Watermark
by Hermione Eveningfall
Summary: A continuation sort of of Playing Doctor. Peter's cold becomes worse, and his siblings are at a loss of what to do. This actually follows most of the plot of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe after a whileyou'll see why as you read.
1. Chapter 1: Dr Barnaby's Visit

Title: Watermark

Author: Hermione Eveningfall

Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Disclaimer: Naturally, I don't own any of the characters…they belong to C.S. Lewis. I am only borrowing them, and promise to give them back!

Summary: Sequel to "Playing Doctor". Peter is getting worse, and, in the midst of her distress, Lucy discovers a hidden wardrobe that will change her life forever.

Chapter 1

_Dr. Barnaby's visit_

The rain continued to pour heavily throughout the rest of that night, complicating matters most dreadfully when Mrs. Macready had to drive the carriage into town at two in the morning for the doctor. Peter, despite his sister's best attempts to help nurse his cold, was growing worse by the hour. Edmund had come barging into the girl's room not long before, shaking Susan awake anxiously. "Peter says he can't breathe well," he gasped. "says he needs you."

Susan rushed into the bedroom Edmund shared with Peter, and found her oldest brother sitting up in bed, coughing hard and wheezing. His face was deathly pale, covered with a thin sheet of sweat. "Edmund," she spoke, after feeling Peter's burning forehead, and patting his back. "Wake Mrs. Macready, and tell her she has to send for the doctor right away."

Edmund stood looking horrified; approaching Macready in broad daylight was bad enough! "Why do I have to go? You're older!" he snapped, and cringed when Peter coughed up a disgusting mouthful of phlegmn into Susan's handkerchief.

"Would you like to sit here then?" Susan asked angrily, and Edmund stepped back. "Go!" she watched as her younger brother rushed off, nearly bumping into Lucy who approached the doorway.

"What's wrong with Peter?" Lucy asked, yawning. She'd been taking care of her brother earlier that day, and, according to Susan, had fallen asleep at the foot of his bed.

"He's getting worse," Susan explained. "He has a bad fever."

"We should wake the Professor," Lucy gasped, hurrying over to the side of the bed.

"No," Susan replied. "Edmund went to fetch Mrs. Macready. She told me to let her know if he took worse, and that she'd send for the doctor. Lu, you shouldn't be in here in case he's contagious. He might be coming down with influenza."

And that was how Lucy came to sit by herself on the windowsill in the parlor, after Macready entered the sickroom and ordered her out at once. She watched as lightening flashed occasionally through the cloudy sky, rumbles of thunder following in suit. When the house grew quiet again, except for the rain splattering against the windos, she could her her brother coughing upstairs.

If only mother were here, she thought, feeling a single tear roll down her cheek. Only hours before, she'd brought Peter to bed, and sung him a lullabye. He'd only been sniffling and sneezing then, which brought her to wonder if he'd been truly feeling worse. Peter tended to hide his ailments as best he could, which usually resulted in weeks of bedrest.

Susan sat beside Peter's bed, watching as he attempted to sleep. Mrs. Macready brought her a bowl of cool water and a rag, which she placed over Peter's forehead as a compress. "It normally takes an hour to get to and from town," the older woman told Susan in her usual, cool tone, "but given this weather, I can't be certain."

Edmund was ordered to spend the rest of the night in his sister's room, which he grudgingly agreed to.

"_Hahkshhhh! Huhshhhuh!_" Peter sneezed weakly, catching them in his free palm. Susan held tightly onto his other hand, pressing it against her cheek.

"Bless you," she told him softly. "Oh Peter, I'm so sorry." She reached up to stroke his damp bangs away from his forehead.

"Where's Lu?" Peter croaked, just as another crack of thunder echoed through the house. Everything ached, even the hair on his head. On top of that, he was so cold; two blankets weren't nearly enough.

"She's downstairs," Susan replied. "Mrs. Macready went for the doctor. Everything's going to be all right."

Peter blinked, darkness clouding the edges of his vision. "Don't need a doctor," he whispered, and Susan shook her head.

"You're always so stubborn with this type of thing," she said. "Just lay still and try to sleep."

Peter made it appear as though he were about to protest again, but groaned softly, and turned his head away from her. Susan carefully removed the compress from his forehead, dipping it in the bowl, and began to blott his neck and cheeks. The last time she'd seen Peter so ill, was when he'd come down with a serious attack of measles two years before.

Edmund, meanwhile, sat up on Susan's bed, refusing to take the floor. His eyes were fixed on the heavy sheets of rain that rolled down the windows, and the heavy ghusts of wind that rattled branches and made eerie howling sounds. He hugged his knees to his chest, wetting his lips. The sound of the thunder reminded him of the bombs exploding, and the though of bombs made him think of his father off fighting in the war.

Edmund always had an extremely tight relationship with Mr. Pevensie; he got along better with his father than his mother, that was certain. He and his mother were always butting heads; she felt he was growing up too fast, but he was tired of her constant fussing. He remembered her disappointed expression when he'd refused to accept her kiss at the train station. Peter was and always had been mother's favorite, and he wasn't about to forgive her for it. He ignored the fact that Peter had nearly died from measles, and that's why Mrs. Pevensie was so overprotective of her eldest son. Nevermind that he nearly cried himself to sleep when he thought his older brother was going to pass away. And, even though the immediate danger had passed, and as much as he tried to hide it, Peter knew he was never going to regain the old strength he had before the illness.

Edmund gave a huff, leaning his chin on his arms. He didn't get weepy over matters such as this; instead, his sadness and worry turned into pure spite instead."I just want father to come back," he told the walls finally. "That's all. If he's killed in the fighting, well then, I'll run off, that's what. I'm not good enough anyway." He lay down on his side, pulling the blankets over his head as he heard Peter's hacking coughs from across the hall.

Lucy awoke to the sound of the door opening, and hushed voices. She opened her eyes, realizing she'd fallen asleep on the sitting room couch. She wasn't sure how long she'd been laying there, but when she managed to raise her head high enough, she saw the tall, thin, stiff figure of Mrs. Macready. Another figure stood behind her, who, Lucy guessed, must have been the Doctor.

Both adults were still talking quietly amongst themselves, and a lamp turned on. "Professor Kirke," Mrs. Macready spoke, and instantly, Lucy hopped off the couch.

"Dr. Barnaby," Lucy heard an old man's voice.

"Did the children wake you, Professor?" Mrs. Macready asked, and Lucy hid behind a wall, peering up the steps. She could see the Professor well from here; he was a tall, thin man, with white hair covering most of his face and head. He was dressed in his own robe, and wore a pair of spectacles on his nose.

"Not to worry, Macready, not to worry. I thank you for coming at such an odd hour, sir," the Professor added, and Lucy quickly hurried after them.

"Professor, sir?" she startled the three adults, and Mrs. Macready placed a hand over her heart.

"Girl, what are you doing out of bed at this hour?" she asked harshly, and Lucy held her hand out to the Professor.

"I was hoping to meet you, little one," Professor Kirke chuckled, accepting the hand. His grip was firm and gentle, and made Lucy feel comfortable at once. "I have been so wrapped up in my work, that I did not wish to be disturbed. I apologize for being such an old hermit."

Lucy giggled. "A pleasure to meet you, too."

"Off to bed, then," Mrs. Macready ordered.

"Is my brother going to be all right?" Lucy asked, and Professor Kirke patted her head tenderly.

"I will do the best I can, miss," the Doctor Barnaby replied, his cheeks rosy from the wind.

"Good night," Lucy said softly, entering her quarteres. She found Edmund sound asleep on Susan's bed, and sighed heavily. No doubt her sister would not be pleased about this, but attempting to wake Edmund before the sun came up was like entering a lion's den. Lucy listened to Peter's moan of pain as she slid under the covers, and, at that moment, Susan entered.

"Edmund stole your bed," Lucy whispered, pointing at his slumbering figure, and Susan sat on the edge of her mattress. When lightening flashed, Lucy could see tear streaks on her sister's face. "Oh, don't cry," she begged. "Peter will get well. The Doctor's here…everything's going to be all right."

"Oh Lu," Susan sobbed, pulling her sister into a tight hug.

"You can share my bed if you'd like," Lucy insisted. "I'm small, so I won't take up much room."

Susan kissed the top of her sister's head, and stole a quick glance at Edmund. "All right," she whispered. Lucy scooted over, so Susan had room to climb under the covers with her.

Dr. Barnaby sat in Susan's chair beside Peter's bed, listening to his heart through a stethoscope. Professor Kirke and Mrs. Macready stood off to the side, watching anxiously. "How long has the boy been ill?" the doctor asked, shaking his head and clucking his tongue.

"His sister said he had a bit of a cold this week," Mrs. Macready answered. "The Professor and I haven't had the time to be watching the children every minute, however."

"_Heh…ehkshhhh!_" Peter sneezed, wanting to sink through the floor and disappear. It was one thing to be ill and at home with mother caring for him; but to be so dreadfully ill in the presence of complete strangers was extremely uncomfortable. He wished Susan could have stayed in the room with him; he felt a tiny bit better when he saw a familiar face.

"Bless, lad," Dr. Barnaby told him kindly. "He seems to be contracting influenza. Is there anywhere the other children could be sent to, until the worst of the illness passes? It is a contagious illness."

The other adults looked at each other, and Professor Kirke stepped forward. "I'm afraid not," he replied. "the children were sent to me from London because of the air raids, and I have no other living relatives."

Dr. Barnaby nodded. "Well, try to keep them out of the room, then. The house must be kept quiet, to give the boy a chance to sleep. He'll need to take in plenty of fluids, preferably herbal teas. His lungs are fairly congested, so a good eucalyptus steam bath to loosen the phlegmn every couple of hours would suffice. If he does not begin to show signs of improvement over the next couple of days, send for me."

Professor Kirke nodded, and gave Peter a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "It's going to be all right, my boy," he insisted.

"Sorry," Peter croaked, coughing and wheezing.

"Let us elevate your head so you will have a bit easier of a time breathing tonight," Dr. Barnaby added, and, with Mrs. Macready's help, eased Peter into a sitting position. They fluffed his pillows and sat them upright, so Peter's upper body was raised slightly.

"One of you should sit with him tonight," Dr. Barnaby added. "He may need a bit of help."

'Just let me die now,' Peter thought, wanting a handkerchief rather badly. Dr. Barnaby seemed to sense his wishes, and handed him a small stack of fresh handkerchiefs. "Keep these under your pillow, lad," he encouraged, and, after taking one and putting the rest under him, Peter nodded gratefully.

"Thags," he croaked, burying his running nose into the cloth.

"I suppose I'll sit up with the boy tonight," Mrs. Macready announced. "You're much too old to be awake all night."

Professor Kirke gave a chuckle. "Old, eh? Is that what you think?"

"_HahKeshhh! KehShhhh!_" Peter sneezed twice, blowing his nose loudly afterwards.

"Bless," all three adults told him in unison.

"Well, discuss it amongst yourselves," Dr. Barnaby said, just as a crack of thunder startled them.

"Sir, perhaps you should spend the night yourself," the Professor suggested. "It's still much too ghastly for anyone to be about."

Dr. Barnaby checked his pocket watch, and glanced at Peter, who lay shivering violently beneath the blankets. "Well, I suppose, but I must be out by daybreak. It's a lengthy ride back to town."

"Then you'll sit with the boy?" Mrs. Macready asked, and Dr. Barnaby nodded.

"Yes, I will. I do believe he'll need an extra blanket, however." He pulled the quilt up to Peter's neck, which did not seem to ease the shivering very much.

"I'll get that," Mrs. Macready replied. "Good night, Professor," she added, after Professor Kirke shook hands firmly with the doctor.

"Thank you," he insisted. "please, feel free to make yourself at home."

Mrs. Macready carried another quilt into the room, tucking it tightly around Peter's body. "Good night, sir," she added, and followed in the Professor's wake. When both were gone, Dr. Barnaby turned down the bedside lamp, and leaned back, trying to get as comfortable as possible. Though it was already three thirty in the morning, daylight seemed years away.


	2. Chapter 2: The Grownup Toychest

Chapter 2

_The grown up toy chest_

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Bright rays of golden sunlight poured through the windows, washing over the still-sleeping faces of Lucy and Susan. Edmund was still asleep as well, but he had the blankets pulled over his head. Every now and again, a snore would erupt, proving that he was in deed still alive.

Lucy's eyes eventually blinked open, and she was a bit surprised to see her sister's face only inches away from her own. Suddenly she gasped, sitting up, and turned towards the window. She smiled as she saw a few stray birds flying past, grateful that the horrible weather had finally ceased.

She suddenly remembered how Susan came to share her bed, and slid to the floor, being careful not to disturb her sister. She hurried across the hall in her bare feet, and peeked through the half-open door to the sickroom. Dr. Barnaby was still there, checking Peter's pulse, and looking awfully grave. Mrs. Macready was in the room as well, folding another compress and placing it over his forehead. Peter was asleep as well, but Lucy could tell from the uneven movements of his breathing, that he was still terribly sick.

"Mrs. Macready?" Lucy suddenly spoke, and the housekeeper looked up. "Is…is he feeling any better?" To Lucy, the answer should have been yes. How could Peter not feel well again, now that the weather was so beautiful? Unfortunately, Peter gave a soft groan and moved about restlessly to discourage her hope.

Mrs. Macready crossed the room, placed a firm hand on Lucy's shoulder, and marched her out of the room. "Wake your siblings for breakfast, please. The weather is much too nice for you three to be spending the day lying about like bumps on a log."

Lucy fought a giggle; Susan had used the exact same phrase with Edmund the day before. She could hear Peter coughing…more like, gagging…from behind her, and his weak sobs that followed made tears spring to her own eyes.

"Please," she begged, "he won't die, will he?"

Mrs. Macready gave what Lucy guessed was an attempt at a smile, but it was an awful result. "No," she replied stiffly, "Dr. Barnaby is certain he'll pull through. But he's very ill right now, and is not to be bothered by any nonsense whatsoever. Now, go and do as I asked."

Lucy sniffed, hurrying into her room. Oh mother, mother…she wanted mother! she tried to keep her tears from falling as she approached Susan and Edmund. When she'd woken bth of her siblings, they were pleased to see that the weather had improved. Lucy broke the news about Peter, which nearly sent Susan into sobs again.

"Oh, don't cry," Lucy begged, as Edmund struggled to sit up, grumbling under his breath.

"I'm so afraid," Ssan whispered, as they began dressing. "Mother was always so afraid of Peter getting sick again after he recovered from measles two years ago. What if he doesn't make it this time?"

Lucy chewed on her nail. "Mrs. Macready said he'll get well," she said. "and she's a grown up, so it must be true!"

Edmund snorted as he hopeed about, trying to pull on his shoe. "Grownups don't know anything," he said, once he was sitting back down on the edge of the bed, tying the laces. Susan glared at him, and gave Lucy a hug.

"Oh Edmund, won't you learn to hold your tongue for once in your life?" she asked.

"Peter's not going to die!" Lucy snapped.

"He isn't," Susan promised, hugging her close. "Let's go down to breakfast, before Macready has a fit."

Edmund, sulky as usual, shuffled after his sisters. They eventually took their places at the table, and Susan turned to look at the empty spot beside her...the seat Peter usually occuped. She fingered his napkin softly, which lay folded on top of the china plate.

"Oh, come now...perk up, my dears."

Everyone whirled around as Professor Kirke entered.

"Professor?" Susan asked, as the cook placed a plate of bacon and eggs before her. The Professor sat down at the head of the table, and smiled at each of them.

"Keep your chins up," he added. "fretting and worrying all day won't help things."

Susan forced a smile in return, and looked at Lucy, who hadn't touched her food yet. Edmund, however, was eating as though he hadn't been fed in weeks.

"Have you all been able to amuse yourselves?" Professor Kirke asked. "I suppose you've discovered my toy chest?"

Lucy perked up instantly. "No, sir," she said. "But you...I didn't think grown ups had toy chests!"

Professor Kirke chuckled. "I'm not an ordinary grown-up," he insisted. "When you are all finished, I'll sh ow you. Perhaps you could set up a game of croquet?"

Susan nodded, and lowered her head again. The Professor squeezed her hand softly. "We're taking care of your brother as best as we can," he promised.

At that moment, Dr. Barnaby made an appearance, with Mrs. Macready at his heels. "The boy is asleep," he announced. "I really must be getting on my rounds. Thank you, sir, for your hospitality."

Professor Kirke nodded. "We'll contact you if the need arists. Thank you, as well."

Mrs. Macready led Dr. Barnaby away, leaving the dining room in silence once more.

After breakfast, Professor Kirke led the remaineder of the healthy children to the cupboard where he stored all of his old toys and games.

"Wow!" Lucy gasped. "You certainly are a silly grown up!"

Susan nudged her shoulder in warning, but the Professor did not seem bothered by her comment at all. "Oh come now!" he chortled, "I am not half so bad as that!" he stepped aside, and Lucy was the first to dive in and explore the contents.

Susan touched her elder's arm,and they went to speak in private. "What did the doctor say about Peter exactly?" she asked. "Is he very badly off?"

Professor Kirke smiled again. "He is fairly ill, and will have to stay in bed for the remainder of the week...or more. The doctor thinks he'll go through a bad spell, but he should pull through."

Susan wet her lips. "My brother had measles two years ago, and the doctor said he wouldn't be as strong as he used to be. Peter nearly died."

Professor Kirke patted her on the shoulder. "Have faith, Susan. Peter certainly seems to have a good bit of strength hidden inside of him."

Susan nodded, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"Let's play tennis!" Lucy gasped, holding a racket.

"Or soccer," Edmund replied. "Tennis is for girls!"

Lucy stuck out her lower lip. "Is not!" she looked at Susan.

"Cricket is a fine sport," the Professor spoke up, and Suan glanced at him. "I have played before, I think," she said. "It's like baseball, isnt it?"

The Professor nodded. "Yes, only you roll the ball so it bounces instead of throwing it. Anyway, I'll be sitting with your brother if you require anything."

"But...sir!" Lucy gasped. "What about your work?" she remembered how strict Mrs. Macready had been about refusing to let them disturb the Professor, though he seemed so kind and caring, that it was hard to believe he would have minded being bothered.

In response, the Professor chuckled. "Again, don't worry. I've traveled enough that I've learned to make my work transportable." he gave Lucy a wink, and then ordered the children outside. " After thanking him, they hurried down the steps, trying to be as quiet as possible. The sunshine felt so glorious, and Lucy, clutching the balls, skipped across the wet grass.

"It is so pleasant, isnt it?" she gasped, setting her burden down, and twirling about, watching as her dress made an umbrella shape in the breeze. Susan smiled at her, setting down the bats, and lifting her face towards the sun.

"So who shall go first?" Susan asked, and Lucy jumped up and down.

"Oh, do let me," she said, "let me go first!"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "I'm older, so I'll go first," he snapped, and Lucy glared.

"Edmund, let Lucy go," Susan ordered, and Edmund scowled.

"I hate the way you order me about," he muttered, shoving a bat into Lucy's hands. "I'll bet you cant hit this ball more than a foot," he added sarcastically, and gripped the object in his palm. Lucy shouldered her bat, her lower lip sticking out in a pout.

"Edmund, just throw the ball and stop teasing her," Susan growled, sitting down on a dry patch of grass by one of the birch trees. Edmund rolled the ball, and to his surprise, Lucy hit it smack across the lawn. Susan squealed and clapped her hands, watching as her sister ran to first base. "That was brilliant, Lu!" she nodded to Edmund. "You go next, then. See if you can't beat that."

Edmund still stood watching with surprise at the length of Lucy's hit, and blinked when Lucy encouraged him to have a go.

"Move aside, girls," Edmund eventually told them, blowing into his hands and wiping them dry. "Let me show you how it's really done!" he stepped forward, his chest puffed out, and took a swing.

Upstairs, Peter lay in bed, tossing and turning fitfully. He'd begun vomiting repeatedly, though, since he hadn't eaten much over the past twenty four hours, it was mostly dry heaving.

Professor Kirke sat beside him, ready with a basin, and blotting the boy's cheeks and forehead with a damp rag. "Susan," Peter gasped, his head feeling as though dwarves were mining for gold inside of it. He was thoroughly embarrassed at having to be looked after by a complete stranger. He wanted to tell Professor Kirke that he was able to look after himself, thanks, but he was too weak to start an argument.

"My poor lad…try to relax now," the Professor encouraged.

"I need my sister," Peter croaked. "Please." Susan's presence was comforting, despite the fact that she was two years younger than he.

"Of course," Professor Kirke replied thoughtfully, just as Peter reached under his pillow for a fresh handkerchief. In the midst of his other miseries, he'd been sneezing like mad all morning long.

"_HehCHUSHHH! KuhSHEEH!_" he attempted to give his nose a great blow, but it only made his nose itch all the worse. "_HehKSHHH!_" he groaned, exhausted.

"Try sitting up and giving a blow," the Professor suggested. "Laying down will just make the congestion worse."

Peter did as recommended, leaning against the headboard. He took a deep breath, and blew as hard as he could, finally clearing his nose somewhat. The Professor squeezed his shoulder gently. "Good boy. I'll go and fetch your sister, then."

Peter nodded his thanks, coughing hard into a fist. He was still coughing when Macready came by after the Professor left, and she stood watching him with a slight scowl on her lips.

"Looks to me like you'll need to take down some cough syrup," she spoke, after he let out another, "_EhkSHUUUH!_" He sniffed, sliding back under the covers. No doubt Macready would present some foul tasting stuff, but he did not want to defy her.

"All right," he croaked, and she stalked out.

"_EhSHAH!"_ Peter sneezed a fifth time, cursing under his breath, as well as cursing his luck. It wasn't fair that he had to get sick now of all possible times, when he and his siblings were so far from home. Even if the Professor could write to mother, he was certain she wouldn't be able to get to them, given the situation.

Mrs. Macready eventually returned, carrying a dark bottle and a spoon. He gulped, trying to keep his expression as stoic as possible when she came to his bedside. "I don't believe in this nonsense that medicine should taste good," she told him, as she poured the murky green liquid into the spoon. "Medicine has a specific job to do, no matter what the taste." She set the bottle on the nightstand, and eased Peter into a sitting position. "Down the hatch, then." she ordered, and taking a deep, shaky breath, Peter accepted the spoonful of foul substance.

It tasted like over-cooked cabbage, and, had he not been fighting against looking like a baby, he would have spat it out instantly. He held it in his mouth for a moment, dreading the feeling of the liquid sliding down his already swollen throat. Susan and the Professor and Susan came upstairs, and he swallowed the medicine quickly. "Urgh," he gasped, accepting a glass of water.

"Oh Peter," Susan whispered as he chugged the drink down gratefully. When he sat the glass down and flopped back against his pillows, he smiled weakly at her. "I'm here," she soothed, stroking his forehead. "I'm here."

Peter took her hand, coughing hard into a fist again.

"Will you be all right sitting here for a time?" Professor Kirke asked, and Susan nodded.

"Yes, we'll be all right, sir. Thank you." She kissed Peter's hand, pressing it against her cheek. His skin was so clammy and cold, and when she felt his bare feet beneath the blankets, they were like ice.

"Then I shall be in my study, dear. Please, feel free to come fetch me if you need anything, or Mrs. Macready."

Macready gave a stiff nod, following her employer out of the sick room. When they were gone, Susan began rubbing one of her brother's feet, trying to warm it.

"Are the others all right?" he whispered, and Susan smiled at him.

"Edmund and Lucy are outside playing cricket," she explained. "They're both just fine, Peter."

"I'm sorry," he croaked, and she cocked her head to the side.

"Whatever for?" she asked.

"For being laid up like this." He pressed the back of his wrist against his still-running nose, and fetched another fresh handkerchief. "Mother wanted me to be the one to look after you, and I've failed her."

Susan cringed as he blew his nose again, and she kissed his hot cheek. "Peter, you couldn't help falling ill. I know you're feeling really badly about yourself because we're living in a stranger's home, but no one minds caring for you."

"Macready…" Peter began, and Susan gave a snort.

"Macready my foot. She must have had a difficult childhood if she can't stand us. The Professor clearly doesn't mind our being here, or our trying to have fun. I wouldn't take anything she says to heart."

Peter closed his eyes, taking another deep breath. "I promised Lucy I would spend time with her as much as I could," he whispered. "I did promise I would play hide-and-seek with her one day. She was so excited to be going to such a big house, and I told her there were probably hundreds of rooms to hide in."

Susan pulled the blankets up to his neck, tucking them tightly around his sides. "Lucy is fine. You just worry about getting well." She kissed his forehead, and he stroked her cheek softly, after she let go of his hand.

"I'm so lucky," he said again, before slipping into sleep again.


	3. Chapter 3: Lucy's Discovery

Chapter 3  
Lucy's Discovery

After Susan had gone to see Peter, Lucy suddenly lost interest in the game. She looked at Edmund, her eyes filling with tears, and said, "I don't want to play anymore."

Edmund groaned inwardly, and slammed the bat down. "Peter's faking all this," he snapped. "He's not really sick, I'll bet. He just wants the attention as usual!"

Lucy gasped, clenching her fingers into fists at her sides. "He is not faking it!" she exclaimed. "Edmund Pevensie, you'd better say you're sorry or I'll scream!" her face was turning a brilliant shade of red, her breath coming out in great heaves.

Edmund kicked a stray cricket ball, and flopped down on the grass. "You're such a cry baby," he said. "I don't see why I have to say I'm sorry. It's not like I made Peter sick. Go ahead and yell, then," he added, as Lucy opened her mouth to retort. "See if I care." He turned away from her, folding his arms across his chest. Lucy stomped her foot on the grass, wanting to give her brother a kick in the shins.

"I'll never ever speak to you again!" she cried, and, turning on her heel, fled back into the mansion. Edmund watched as she disappeared through the back door, and growled under his breath. Good, he thought, resting his chin on his knees. Little sisters are stupid, anyway. Who needs 'em?

Lucy dashed into the house, sobbing quietly. She hated how Edmund could be so dreadfully mean! She was half tempted to beg Susan to tell Edmund off for being a prat, but when she reached the top of the stairs, she saw Susan laying beside Peter on the bed, one arm wrapped around his middle, and her head buried against his shoulder. She was crying softly herself, smoothing his sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead with her free hand.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Lucy hiccoughed, climbing the steps slowly, afraid that any noise might cause her brother pain. "what is going to happen to us?" she tiptoed past the sickroom, wanting to find a private place where no one would bother her. The bedroom wasn't good enough; Edmund would most likely go in there if he came back inside, and she did not want to see him.

Lucy eventually found another set of stairs at the end of the corridor, and hurried up those. She came upon yet another hall, much narrower and darker than the rest of the house. Lucy realized that there were at least ten doors on either side, all closed. Jumping a little at the sound of Peter's coughs from below, Lucy decided it would be interesting to see what these rooms contained.

She attempted to open the first three door handles on the right side, but found them to be locked tight. "Blast," she muttered, wiping the dust on her skirt. She tried a couple on her opposite side, and finally, the third door's knob turned easily. Lucy gasped, and very slowly, pulled the door open. She wiped her damp eyes with heels of her hands as she entered the room, and when her vision cleared, she saw it was an empty one. Well, empty except for a great object standing by the back wall, covered in a white sheet.

"Oh!" she breathed, wondering what on earth it was, and why the Professor would want to keep the object hidden. She walked towards it as though in a slight trance, and, reaching up, she took hold of the sheet. With one swift tug, Lucy pulled it off, revealing a great oak wardrobe. She stood staring at it for a few moments, wondering what could possibly be inside. Another toychest? She wondered, filling with excitement. "Perhaps the Professor forgot to tell us about this," she added aloud, wondering if she should open the wardrobe door and have a look.

"HehKESHHH! HuhKeshhhh!" she heard Peter sneezing in the distance, and glanced over her shoulder, as though expecting someone to come up behind her. When no one did, she decided to go with her instinct and open the wardrobe door. She took the small handle between her fingers, and opened it carefully. A couple of mothballs rolled onto the floor, and when she looked up, she realized the wardrobe was full of coats. Men's coats as well as ladie's coats, in all shapes and sizes. She touched the first coat, a brown fur one with a black collar, and rubbed the soft material against her cheek.

"I wonder how far back this goes," she thought, wishing Peter were well. If he hadn't come down with the flu, then they would be able to play hide-and-seek—and this would be a perfect hiding place! Lucy parted several of the coats with her hands, stepping inside. It smelled musty, and she had to blink several times to get used to the darkness. She reached forward with her hands, preparing to come feel a wooden back, but, after a moment or two of walking, she felt nothing. "Goodness," she gasped, nearly getting a mouthful of mink.

After a full minute of walking, she felt something sharp and cold with her fingers. "Ouch!" she cried, parting a space between more coats. Her mouth fell open at once—she'd touched the needles of a pine tree! "What?" she glanced over her shoulder, only seeing darkness, and then turned back to the needles. She pressed on, squeezing through several pine branches, stepping onto something soft. Looking up, she realized she was outside…only, everything was completely covered in snow!

A few fresh flakes fell before her as well, one hitting her gently on the nose. Lucy couldn't believe it—she couldn't possibly still be on the Professor's grounds. It was springtime there, and the grounds were clear. "Where am I?" she asked, holding out her hands as more snow fell. Her breath came in white puffs as she moved forward, and she suddenly grinned with delight. This was a magical place, she just knew it!

Lucy spun around in circles, watching as her feet made prints in the white snow. To make sure she wasn't dreaming, she pinched her arm. Afterwards, she was still standing in the winter wonderland…it was real!

Lucy eventually came upon what appeared to be a lamppost, with flames glowing brightly inside a glass case. It was covered with frost, which she brushed off gently with her fingertips.

SNAP! Lucy whirled around when she heard what sounded like a twig snapping. She peered through a thick grove of trees, her heart racing madly. If this was indeed a magical world, who knew what creatures existed? So far, she hadn't seen anyone or anything…not even a bird or a rabbit. Once she calmed down, Lucy continued to gaze up at the lamppost, and then glanced back towards the wardrobe. It was where she'd left it, an opening where the back wall should have been.

SNAP! There was that sound again! Lucy jumped, and turned just in time to see a pair of furry, hooved hind legs rushing past beneath the bough of ferns. Lucy held her breath, wanting to run, but her own legs wouldn't move. Suddenly, a creature appeared. He was about a head taller than Lucy, but was not at all normal. His upper half was human like herself, but he had legs shaped like a goat's, and instead of feet he had hooves. He was wearing a red scarf and carried what appeared to be a great load of wrapped packages and a white umbrella.

Lucy screamed, startled, and the creature did the same, dropping everything he'd been holding into the snow. Both Lucy and the stranger dashed away, taking refuge behind something. Lucy hid behind the lamppost, and the half-human/goat hid behind a tree. The lamppost didn't hide all of her; she was still able to see the creature as his tail moved from side to side. She peered out from behind the lamppost, and he, as though reading her mind, felt safe enough to do the same.

For a moment, neither of them spoke…they merely stared at each other. Lucy eventually took the opportunity to step out first, though he hesitated. "Are you afraid of me?" she asked gently, but he didn't answer. She looked down, and bent over to retrieve one of the fallen packages.

The creature began stuttering, reaching out a hand as though to prevent her from touching anything. "D-don't—p-put…" he finally stepped out, his enormous blue eyes wide with worry. He aimed his umbrella at her, but she picked up the parcel anyway.

"Here you are," she said, handing the package to him. He took it, holding it tightly to his chest. "If you don't mind my asking, what exactly are you?"

The creature looked a little taken aback by the question, and blinked. "Me?" he asked. "Why, I'm a fawn! And what may I ask, are you? A type of beardless dwarf?" he pushed the top of the umbrella up so it covered him. Lucy giggled, shaking her head.

"I'm not a dwarf," she insisted. "I'm a girl!" she put her hands on her hips. "and actually, I'm the tallest in my class!" she loved to say this, and did when she could with great pride.

The Faun's expression changed from curiosity to, what Lucy thought, was hope. "Do you mean to say," the Faun began, "that you are indeed a daughter of Eve?"

Confused, Lucy looked at him. "Well, my mother's name is…."

He shook his head. "No, no, you misunderstand me. Are you actually…human?"

"Yes," Lucy replied.

The Faun beamed. "And how did you come to be in Narnia?"

Lucy blinked. "What is that?" she asked, and the Faun snorted.

"Why, my dear girl, this…" he pointed to the ground. "this is Narnia! Everything you see from the lamppost, all the way to the castle Cair Paravel…every rock and leaf in this part is Narnia."

"Oh!" she cried in delight. "Well, I came from the wardrobe in the spare room," she explained, pointing behind her, and the Faun cocked his head to one side.

"Ward-robe and Spar-oom?" he asked. "I've never heard of those countries!"

Lucy giggled. "They're not countries," she began, and suddenly, the Faun gave a deep bow. 

"Forgive my rudeness," he apologized, "but I forgot to introduce myself. My name, is Tumnus."

Lucy grinned. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tumnus!" she replied. "I'm Lucy Pevensie." She held out her hand, but Mr. Tumnus merely looked at it. "Oh," she added, "you're supposed to shake it."

Mr. Tumnus frowned. "Why?" he asked, and she lowered her hand, not quite sure how to answer his question.

"I…" she thought hard, wondering if anyone had in deed told her about the purpose of a handshake. "don't know!" she shrugged. "It's what people do when they meet each other." She held it out again, and Mr. Tumnus, though slightly hesitant, took her hand and gave it an awkward little jiggle. Lucy laughed, gripping a bit more firmly and shaking it again.

"Well, Lucy Pevensie from the dazzling country of Ward-robe, how would it be if you came to have tea with me?"

Lucy swallowed nervously…she knew her siblings would be worried about her if she stayed in Narnia for too long. Well, Susan and Peter would miss her…she wasn't so certain if Edmund would care whether she returned or not.

"I shouldn't stay long," she replied. "My brother's very sick at home."

Mr. Tumnus frowned as he bent over to pick up more of the strewn packages. "Ill you say?" Lucy took one of the packages out of his hands so he would not drop them again.

"He's caught influenza," Lucy replied sadly.

"Oh goodness me," Mr. Tumnus clucked his tongue. "Well, if you come with me, Lucy, I have a special herb that will help your brother. We have many…or well, should I say…had many remedies for ailments here in Narnia. But, as it is winter, not many are growing."

"You have medicine that may help my brother?" Lucy asked, and Mr. Tumnus nodded.

"I have a barrel stored in my house, yes," he replied. "I will show you how to brew it into a tea. You look half frozen yourself, and no doubt a cup of tea would not do any harm at all…and I have toast and cakes," he added, "and if we are lucky, we may be able to break into the sardines."

Lucy tried not to wrinkle her nose at the sardine suggestion, but finally nodded. "I suppose…I could come for a little while," she agreed, and he grinned.

"Wonderful! Come along, then…my house is not far at all, and I promise, I will not keep you very long."

Lucy took one more look over her shoulder at the lamppost, and followed Mr. Tumnus through the trees. 

They arrived at his house, which was originally a cave within minutes, and Mr. Tumnus opened the door for Lucy. It was indeed warm and comfortable inside; a fire cackled cheerily in the corner, and Lucy could detect a scent of cinnamon from a bowl on the table. She walked around, exploring the different things, while Mr. Tumnus set down his packages and went to fetch the medicine.

She saw a portrait sitting on one table, and picked it up to get a closer look. Mr. Tumnus took a handful of a grey plant from a barrel in the corner, and looked at her. "Oh," he began, "that was my father."

Lucy looked at him. "He looks a lot like you," she said, and Mr. Tumnus gave a chuckle.

"No," he breathed. "not at all like me."

Lucy set the picture back on the table, and lowered her head. "My father is off fighting in the war," she replied sadly, and Mr. Tumnus produced three mugs from a cabinet high above them.

"Mine faught in a war as well," he said, and Lucy looked at him. "but, that was—many many years ago. Before this dreadful winter." He displayed the herbs, and motioned for Lucy to come over to the table.

"But winter is not all bad," she began. "there's ice skating and sledding…and Christmas!"

Mr. Tumnus sighed sadly. "Not here," he explained, as he let her take one of the herbs and smell it. It had a spicey scent, which reminded her quite a bit of rosemary. "We've not had Christmas in Narnia for a hundred years."

Lucy gasped as he began to crush the herbs between his fingers, watching as the powdered leaves fell into the tin mug. 

"No presents for a hundred years!" she cried, watching as Mr. Tumnus poured boiling water into all three cups. "It has been a very long winter," he said sadly. He then filled the two others with cinnamon tea, offering a mug to Lucy.

"Thank you very much," she told him, and he encouraged her to sit down and warm herself by the fire. "What is the herbs you are using for the medicine, Mr. Tumnus?" she asked. "They smell familiar…are they rosemary?"

Mr. Tumnus shook his head. "No," he replied. "It is a secret, but a mere smell of the herbs will help. How long has your brother been ill?"

Lucy sipped from her tea mug, and looked at her feet. "Since we came to live with a Professor," she explained. "He had a cold, and got worse. My sister thinks he's going to die."

"From a cold?" Mr. Tumnus asked, sitting down while he waited for the medicine to stew, and Lucy bit her lip. 

"He was very ill with measles two years ago," she explained. "He is still weak from it, you see, and catches everything."

"I am sorry to hear that." Mr. Tumnus looked up at the mantle, and reached up to take a wooden box from it. "Perhaps a light tune will help to boost your spirits? We've a bit to go before the medicine is ready."

Lucy took another sip of her tea, and nodded. "That would be lovely," she replied, and Mr. Tumnus opened the box, pulling out a strange-looking instrument, that reminded Lucy of a flute.

"Now," he continued. "are you familiar with any Narnian lullabyes?"

Lucy shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "No."

Mr. Tumnus smiled. "Good." He took a deep breath, and held the instrument towards his lips. "Because this," he added, "probably won't sound anything like one."

She gazed into the flames for a moment, and then watched as Mr. Tumnus began to play. The melody had an eerie tune to it; one that, after a time, made Lucy feel dreadfully sleepy. She kept her eyes focused on the flames, watching as they danced, each spark of fire turning into a Faun. The Fauns were dancing in circles to the beat of the music, and the rhythm of their steps put Lucy into a deep sleep. The mug of tea fell from her hand, and came crashing to the floor.

When Lucy awoke, hours had passed. It was dark now; the fire had been extinguished, and Mr. Tumnus was gone from the seat in front of her. She gasped, sitting up straight, and listened to the wind as it blew against the window. "I…" she stood. "I should be going," she said. "It's already very late."

"No," a voice spoke, causing her to jump. "Don't leave, you can't."

Lucy looked over and saw Mr. Tumnus…he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the chair he'd been originally sitting in. He looked terrified as she approached him, and lowered his head. "I am a bad Faun," he whimpered, tears beginning to fall from his eyes.

"No you're not," she soothed, retrieving a handkerchief from her pocket. "You're the nicest Faun I've ever met!"

She handed him her handkerchief, and knelt down beside him.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew," he whispered between sobs. "no, I'm a bad Faun…the worst Faun in the world."

"But…" Lucy paused. "what could you possibly have done that was so bad?" she asked, confused.

"Or…what I am doing," he added, and Lucy stared.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and he began to cry again.

"I'm kidnapping you," he practically squeaked, and she gasped.

"Oh…" she felt faint. "Why are you doing that?"

"Because the white witch asked me to," he answered.

"Who is she?" Lucy asked, wishing she hadn't followed Mr. Tumnus.

"Why, it is she who has got all of Narnia under her thumb," he explained. "She is the one who makes it always cold, always winter. She said if I happened upon a son of adam or a daughter of Eve, that I should catch them and bring them over to her. And you are the first I ever met."

Lucy gulped. "But you told me you would help my brother," she said softly. "I thought you were my friend."

Mr. Tumnus clutched her handkerchief. "I only told you about the medicine so you would follow me," he said.

"It isn't medicine, then?" Lucy asked, her heart sinking, and he managed a small smile.

"no, it is" he said. "I…I played the music so you would fall asleep, and not realize what was going on. But then I realized what I was doing, and felt terrible…I…I couldn't bring you to the witch, not when you were so kind and…" he burst into tears again, and Lucy touched his shoulder.

"Oh please don't cry," she said. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Tumnus. But…you will let me go home, won't you?"

He nodded, taking the cup that contained the medicine, and placed it into her hands. "We must leave quickly," he told her. "the herbs are completely stewed now. I was going to get rid of it, but, it will still be useful, even cold. Come, let us make haste…she may not know you're here as yet." He took Lucy's free hand, and led her as fast as he could out of the cave.

Lucy followed close behind Mr. Tumnus, panting and feeling a stitch form in her side. They approached the lamppost, and he touched her shoulder. "You know how to find your way home from here, I hope?" he asked, and Lucy nodded, clutching the mug of medicine with both hands.

"Yes," she replied. "I think so."

Mr. Tumnus bent down. "I hope you will forgive me, Lucy. You are the first person I have met that has made me feel warm inside for a long time."

Lucy smiled, and pecked a kiss on his cheek. "You'll be all right, won't you?" she asked, and he smiled back.

"Go," he ordered, and Lucy took off, being careful not to spill any of the liquid. 

She eventually found the wardrobe, and forced her way through the fur coats, nearly tripping as she fell out into the spare room. She ran out into the hall and down the set of steps towards Peter's room, finding Susan still lying beside him. "Susan!" she gasped, rushing in. Susan raised her head and so did Peter. "Susan, I'm all right…I'm so sorry I was gone for so long!"

"You were outside playing cricket with Edmund, weren't you?" Susan asked. "I only came in a little while ago."

Lucy stared as Peter struggled to sit up, coughing hard into a fist, his cheeks rosy from the fever. "But…I've been gone for hours and hours!" she gasped, walking over to the side of the bed.

"Lucy, it's only noon," Susan replied, as Peter sneezed into fresh handkerchief. "You were only outside for a half hour."

"KshhhUH!" he gave his nose a blow, sniffling wetly.

"You don't understand," Lucy insisted. "I…I found a wardrobe in one of the empty rooms upstairs, and I…I discovered a land called Narnia in it! I met a Faun named Mr. Tumnus, who took me to his house and made tea for us. He made medicine for you, Peter, which is right here." She held up the mug, and Susan asked to see it.

Lucy handed the mug over, and Susan peered into the cup. "Are you coming down with this, too, Lu?" Peter croaked. "She might be getting delirious," he added, and Susan felt Lucy's forehead.

"I'm not ill," Lucy insisted. "Peter, there really is a world inside the wardrobe, and I'll show you!"

"Lucy, Peter is too sick to get out of bed," Susan replied, just as Edmund came towards them.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Lucy thinks she found a magial land inside a wardrobe," Susan explained, and sniffed the contents of the mug. "This is rosemary tea, Lu."

"no it isn't!" Lucy exclaimed. "it's a special Narnian medicine. Mr. Tumnus said Peter has to drink it."

"You've officially cracked," Edmund told his sister.

"Come on," Lucy begged. "I'll show you the wardrobe and you can see for yourself!"

"Oh Lu," Susan sighed, and Peter touched her arm.

"Humor her," he whispered. "Lucy, I appreciate that you helped make tea for me." He accepted the mug from Susan. "but I'm afraid your imagination is running away with you again."

"Oh, come!" Lucy took Susan and Edumund's hands, dragging them out of the room and upstairs. Edmund shuffled after them, and when they reached the spare room, Lucy continud to drag Susan until they were standing in front of the wardrobe.

"Go around the back and see if it's solid, Edmund," Susan said, and she stepped inside. "I'll knock, and you respond if you hear me."

Edmund nodded, and hurried around back of the wardrobe. Susan eventually found the back wall of the wardrobe, and knocked twice on it. Lucy's eyes widened as Edmund returned her noise. "But it was there!" she cried, stomping her foot. "I saw it! I wouldn't lie about this!"

Susan stepped out of the wardrobe, and Edmund stood beside her. "I know you're upset about Peter," she said. "and that may be what's causing your imagination to run wild. But Lu, the only wood is the back wall of the wardrobe. There is no magical forest or anything at all."

"I swear I saw it!" Lucy insisted, and Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Give it up, Lu," he snapped, and she felt the tears falling down her cheeks. She immediately turned on her heel and hurried back to Peter's room, where he was drinking slowly from the mug.

He watched as she hugged him tightly, and he lowered the mug. "You have to believe me, Peter," she sobbed, and he planted a kiss on top of her head.

"Go and lay down," he told her, as Susan and Edmund came back in.

Lucy stared at him, and ran across the hall, closing the door behind her. Susan watched as Peter finished the rest of the tea, licking his lips. 

"How was it?" she asked, and he looked at her.

"It was cold," he whispered, and Edmund snorted.

"She gave you cold tea?" he scoffed, and Susan glared at him.

"It was the thought that counted," she snapped. "Edmund, please. Peter needs his rest. Go and find something to do that won't get you into trouble."

Edmund glowered, and stomped off, leaving Susan and Peter alone again. "Tell Lucy I do love her," Peter whispered. "I love her very much."

Susan kissed him on the temple. "I will, sweetheart." She eased him back under the covers, and fluffed his pillows. He watched as she tiptoed out of the room, and turned towards the window, a tear falling down his cheek.


	4. Chapter 4: A Turn for the worst

Chapter 4

_A turn for the worst_

Meanwhile, Lucy was lying with her head in her arms, sobbing quietly. It wasn't fair--why did no one believe her? If only she could find a way to make them see--but they'd tried the wardrobe, and nothing came of it.

Perhaps it is because they are too grown up to believe in magic, she thought, when she heard a knock on the door.

"Go away," she whimpered, but her request wasn't fulfilled. Susan came in, and sat beside her younger sister.

"Lu...Peter says to to tell you he loves you," she began, but this made Lucy cry even harder. "We all do," Susan added, stroking the child's hair gently. "But you really must take better control of that imagination...I fear it runs away with you a bit too much these days."

Lucy sat up, her cheeks damp with tears. "But I wasn't imagining anything!" she cried, hiccoughing every now and again. "Honest I wasn't! I don't know why you or Ed couldn't see Narnia, but it was there in the wardrobe! I wouldn't make that up, I swear!"

Susan sighed, feeling a bit lost for what to do. "Lu, that's enough," she said. "Really."

Lucy turned away, wanting to be left alone. "Go away," she croaked, as the tears began falling.

"Lu..." Susan started to protest, but Lucy repeated her demand, and Susan saw no other way out of the situation. She left Lucy, and made her way back to Peter's room. He lay still, his face ghastly white and covered with sweat. She rushed to fetch a bowl of cool water and a cloth, and began blotting his cheeks and neck. Peter groaned, moving about restlessly, but did not open his eyes.

His breathing was certainly growing worse by the minute, which the Professor noticed immediately when he entered the room.

"Good heavens, he's taking a bad turn," the older gentleman said, and Susan's lips were trembling.

"You don't think he could be allergic to the herb Lucy gave him?" she asked, and the Professor stared at her.

"What?" he asked, blinking through his large glasses.

"She gave him this," Susan explained, handing the Professor the empty mug. "she claims she's been to another world through a wardrobe, and a faun gave it to her."

The Professor's own face turned white, and he looked at Peter. "Did she?" he asked, and Susan nodded.

"She won't give up about it," she added. "I don't understand what's gotten into her...I know she's upset, but even Lucy usually keeps her head."

Professor Kirke cleared his throat, setting the mug aside after taking a sniff from it. "Where is your sister?" he asked, and Susan bit her lip.

"She's in our room," she answered. "but she wants to be left alone."

Professor Kirke nodded, and tapped his fingers together. "Well, I'll have Mrs. Macready send for the doctor again...he can do a better diagnosis." he felt Peter's forehead, which was of course, burning up. "Stay here with him," he said, and hurried out of the room. Susan watched as the old man disappeared through the door, and felt Peter squeeze her hand.

"Let me help you sit up a bit," she encouraged, trying not to break down in front of him. She eased her older brother into an upright position, in an attempt to get more air into his lungs. "Try to cough, sweetheart," she begged, rubbing his back, and fetching a handkerchief from under his pillow. In a feverish haze, Peter attempted to cough as hard as he could, bringing up a mouthful of phlegmn into the cloth she held to his lips. He gulped, choking on a sob of pain.

When Lucy finally came out of her room, she could hear Peter's continuous hacking across the hall. It was clear he was worse...much worse...than before she'd given him the tea. But Mr. Tumnus couldn't possibly have poisoned Peter! she thought, biting her lip. but I didn't know he was kidnapping me either, she added, and wanted to kick herself for even thinking such horrid thoughts. Mr. Tumnus is too dear! He wouldnt! she jumped when Mrs. Macready came up at that moment in her traveling clothes, ordering her downstairs at once.

"I won't have you skulling about when your brother needs his rest," the house keeper snapped, her lips tightly pursed. "I told the Professor we could take care of this ourselves...we know plenty of remedies. Doctor's specific diagnosis my foot..."

Lucy gulped, making her way down to the parlor, where Edmund sat on the floor against the chair, with a book about ships open on his lap. He ignored Lucy completely when she came in, merely turning the page a bit more loudly than was necessary. Both of them looked up when they heard Macready coming in their direction, and she paused at the parlor doorway. "Supper will be on the table at six thirty," she told them. "I may not be back by then, so make sure you are there promptly."

"Yes'm," they replied in unison, glaring at each other.

"And your brother is not to be disturbed. Any shoutin' or runnin' is to be done outside of the house."

She turned switfly on her heel and stalked out the door, leaving the house in silence again.

Upstairs, Susan allowed Peter to cough up more phlegmn, accepting a basin from the Professor. "This might be a bit more efficient," he said, and she looked at him, her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm so frightened," she squeaked, and the Professor put a hand on her shoulder. "He can't breathe," she added, as he began wheezing hard again.

"So am I," he replied.

At last, when Peter had coughed up what he could, he fell back against his pillows. Susan cringed at the contents of the basin, and, after setting it down, replaced his old compress with a fresh one.

"I would fetch a hot water bottle for his feet," Professor Kirke said after feeling one of them, "but his fever is much too high to risk anything warmer than the blankets he has over him on his body."

"He keeps shivering," she said, tucking the quilt around his sides.

"I'm so c-cold," Peter croaked, his teeth chattering.

"I know, darling," Susan soothed, and Professor Kirke chuckled.

"Look at you," he said softly. "you sound so much like your mother."

She managed a small smile. "I should write to her," she said. "she ought to know Peter is so sick." she started to stand and the Professor motioned for her to sit again with his hand.

"No sense in worrying your mother, Susan...she has quite enough on her hands with the air raids, and she most likely is not at home."

Susan hadn't thought about that...her mother had problably gone to find shelter outside of London as well. She certainly wouldnt have stayed behind at their house, which was right in the center of all the terror.

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "you are probably right." she turned to Peter, who was drifting off to sleep at last. "he is in such pain," she choked.

"Given the way his fever is spiking, we may have to give him a sponge bath," Professor Kirke suggested. "perhaps we ought to do so now, before the doctor comes."

Susan sniffed, and nodded. "That might help...I'll go and turn on the water in the tub, Professor."

Professor Kirke encouraged Peter to awake again, and the boy merely stared at his guardian through practically blank eyes. It was a struggle trying to get him out of bed, but the Professor and Susan managed to do so. "This way the sheets and his night shirt will be fresh," Professor Kirke explained, as Susan helped Peter undress, feeling a bit strange staring at her now-naked brother. Oh, she'd seen him naked before of course...they were only two years apart, so as babies they saw it all the time. But now...she shuddered a little with embarassment, grateful that he was too delirious to realize what was going on.

"All right," she encouraged, easing him into the tub. Peter gasped in alarm at the touch of the water, and cried out once he was sitting in it. His teeth chattered violently, and more coughs racked through his body. "It's all right." she took a wash cloth and began to rub it over her brother's boiling body.

Professor Kirke, who knew every nook and cranny in his mansion, found a clean set of sheets for the bed. Macready would have had a fit seeing him work this way, but he did not care. "After all," he muttered, "I am the owner of this house, and she is under my charge. I do fear that she is taking her position a bit too seriously." he made the bed with ease, and went to check on Susan, who was still bathing her brother.

"Is it helping at all?" he asked, and she looked up.

"His skin is a bit cooler," she replied. "not very much, though."

Professor Kirke rubbed his chin. "Well, we'll give him about five minutes more, and take him out...he'll catch a chill on top of this flu if in the water for too long."

Susan stroked Peter's hair, kissing the top of his head when he groaned softly. When it was time for him to come out, the Professor returned to the bathroom, and together he and Susan eased Peter out of the tub. They wrapped him in a couple of fluffy towels, and, after pulling a fresh nightshirt over his head, led him slowly back to the bedroom.

Once he was back under the clean sheets and his head elevated to ease his labored breathing, the Professor checked his pocketwatch. It was already five o'clock, and dinner would be served in the dining room around six. "Take your brother and sister outdoors for the remainder of the evening," he suggested. "all of you need some fresh air to help calm your nerves."

Peter coughed and wheezed again, tossing his head from side to side.

"I can't leave him," Susan told the Professor, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, you can," he said firmly. "Susan, you have your other siblings to think of as well. I will sit with Peter, and Mrs. Macready will return with Dr. Barnaby shortly. Please do as I say, my dear…there is no use panicking, all right?"

Susan gulped, stepping back, and nodded slowly. "All right," she whispered, and left the room. She hurried down to the library, where Lucy lay on the couch, still reading her book: Grimm's Fairytales. Edmund was studying his pocketknife, chizzling a piece of stray wood that he'd found outside earlier that week.

"Professor Kirke says we have to go outside," she said, and Lucy looked up from her book.

"Is Peter feeling any better? Oh I'm so sorry, Susan," she sobbed. "I shouldn't have given him the tea…"

Edmund stuffed his knife and the piece of wood into the pockets of his britches, and hopped to his feet. "Oh good one, Lu," he snorted. "now you've gone and poisoned him, haven't you?"

Susan glared. "No of course she hasn't," she snapped, and went to pull Lucy into her arms. "It's not your fault," she soothed. "Peter may just be having an allergic reaction to the herb…you wouldn't have known about that."

"B-but Mr. T-Tumnus said it was o-one of the best medicines," Lucy wailed, clinging to Susan's arms.

"Lucy, enough about that," Susan ordered. "Please."

Lucy started to protest again, but folded her arms tightly against her chest, and her lower lip stuck out in a pout. "Fine," she snapped. "don't believe me, then! But I know Narnia exists! I know I'm right, and I'm not going to change my mind about it, either!"

Edmund and Susan glanced at each other, and then without another word, Susan urged her siblings outside. It was still warm, but now that it was growing near dusk, a cool breeze ruffled their hair as they sat on the lawn. They missed mother dreadfully, and wished she could be here with them. Peter needed her, especially.

Lucy kept her nose buried in her book, refusing to speak to either Susan or Edmund, and occasionally picked at a blade of grass. They lay in silence until six o'clock arrived, and made their way back into the mansion. Mrs. Macready arrived at six fifteen with Dr. Barnaby, and the three children scurried out of her way to the dining room.

Dr. Barnaby followed the house keeper upstairs, where the Professor sat by Peter's bedside, reading a book as well, and occasionally adjusting his glasses on his nose. "We think he may be having a reaction to an herb, doctor," Macready began, as he felt Peter's forehead, and checked his pulse.

"There has been no real change since your last visit, doctor," Professor Kirke said. "as you can see, his breathing is getting worse. We did give him an herbal tea, but his condition changed drastically since he took it down."

Dr. Barnaby peered into Peter's eyes, which were glazed over from the fever, and peered down his throat. He moved into the Professor's chair and opened his satchel, taking out his stethoscope again. "You believe he may be having a reaction to the specific herb you used?" he asked. "do you remember which herb?"

"Well," Mrs. Macready began, "his youngest sister brought the tea, but she did not know for sure what herb she put in."

Dr. Barnaby looked up, surprised. "I see…"

"This is the cup," Mrs. Macready added, and handed it to the doctor. "I daresay it has a hint of rosemary."

Dr. Barnaby gave a slight sniff, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Mmmm…certainly an odd type of rosemary. I think I detect a hint of cinnamon, in fact." He handed the cup back to Professor Kirke, who eyed the cup suspiciously, and told Mrs. Macready to bring it back down to the kitchens.

"The boy sounds as though he is beginning to come down with pneumonia judging from his breathing," Dr. Barnaby announced, after listening to his heart and his lungs.

"Forgive me for being so blunt, doctor, but…do you think he will die?" Professor Kirke asked, and Dr. Barnaby smiled softly.

"If he does contract pneumonia, then there may be a danger of his passing away, but we have not gotten quite to that stage yet. He still has a good bit of fight left in him, so I would not be too hasty in your worry, sir." He gave Peter a gentle pat on the wrist when the boy began moving about, and Peter relaxed somewhat. "Have you give him a sponge down yet for the fever? If not, I would certainly recommend it."

Professor Kirke nodded. "Yes in deed we did," he replied. "Not long before you arrived, in fact. And cough syrup as well, though that has not helped very much as you can see."

Dr. Barnaby cleared his throat, ruffling his mustache a little with his breath. "Mmmm. Well, I may be able to prescribe a bit of a menthol steam bath. It may help clear his lungs a bit more easily than the cough syrup. And Aspirin for the fever is best…twice a day."

"Of course," Professor Kirke closed his eyes. "We may have thought of that." He glanced at Macready, who, through her stern eyes and tightly-pursed lips, seemed most definitely worried about the child. Peter opened his eyes slowly, turning towards the doctor, and, in a very quiet voice, whispered, "father?"

Macready put a hand over her heart, and Professor Kirke had to chuckle. "Why Mrs. Macready…is that a hint of emotion I am detecting?" he asked, and she looked at him.

"No, lad," Dr. Barnaby said, frowning. "I am afraid I am not your father." He sighed. "Try those remedies, and if they do not help, then we will have to leave the boy in God's hands."

Professor Kirke nodded, accepting the bottle of aspirin. Mrs. Macready said they did have menthol, and that she would set immediately to making the mixture. "Will you stay for supper, doctor?" she asked. "it is just about to be served."

Dr. Barnaby checked his watch, and with another "Hrem," he looked at them.

"I would not want to impose," he said, and Professor Kirke put a hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"Of course not. You are most welcome."

"Who will sit with the boy?" Mrs. Macready asked. "With his breathing so uneven like that, I fear to let him alone."

"I…" Professor Kirke began, and Mrs. Macready pointed at him.

"You most certainly will not," she said. "you've been sitting with him all day long. I will."

"I do not think it wise to be eating supper in the room," Dr. Barnaby said. "perhaps outside the room on the bench here is all right."

Mrs. Macready agreed to sit with Peter for the time being, and Professor Kirke led Dr. Barnaby down to the dining room. Susan, Edmund and Lucy were already seated and waiting for Betty the cook to appear, and all three of them looked anxious when the doctor joined them.

"Good evening doctor," Susan told him politely. "is everything…all right?"

Dr. Barnaby watched as Professor Kirke took a seat at the head of the table, and smiled thoughtfully. "He is going through a bad spell, I'm afraid, and it will be a struggle…there is no doubt about that."

Lucy sobbed once, covering her mouth with her hands, and Susan immediately pulled her close.

"He's…dying then?" Edmund asked, and the doctor shook his head.

"Of course he's not dying, lad. But he is going to have a bit of a fight for the next couple of days."

"Shshhsh," Professor Kirke warned as the girls began to cry softly. "I'll not have crying at the dinner table." He took his spoon when they both paused in their tears. "Perhaps you would like to see a bit of a trick?"

"What?" Susan choked, and Dr. Barnaby grinned.

"Yes, a trick would be very nice in deed, sir. Tears will be of no use," he added. "your brother needs you all to be strong for him."

Susan dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, and Lucy did the same. Edmund hadn't cried at all…he sat very still in his chair, his lips very tight. He wouldn't cry…he really didn't care about Peter that much—not his stupid older brother. His blundering, irritating…

"Now," Professor Kirke began, interrupting his thoughts. "I am not sure whether you know how this is done…children are always so clever these days," he added, "but, watch closely."

They did. He breathed on the cuped part of the spoon, and stuck the metal to his nose. Susan's mouth hung open, and almost immediately, Lucy began giggling.

"Professor!" Susan gasped. "wherever did you learn such a ridiculous thing?"

Professor Kirke watched as Lucy attempted to do the same with her spoon, only succeeding in having it fall to the floor.

"Ridiculous, eh? It's magic, my girl, and magic is far from ridiculous!" he looked at Lucy who was attempting to do it again, and shook his head as the spoon once again slipped off. "No, no, you don't blow on it—you sort of do a light "ha" like that…there!"

Betty at that moment came out with the supper, and Professor Kirke turned to her with the spoon still attached to his nose. "Thank you, my dear," he said, and the poor cook nearly dropped everything with surprise.

"Goodness me," Betty laughed. "that is impressive!" she began to serve the meal…rost pork, rice, green beans, and fresh bread. "How is the other boy?" she asked, having heard of the illness.

"Not much of a change, Betty," Professor Kirke replied. "but we are hoping for the best." He looked at the children, whose eyes were lowered, and cleared his throat. "well, dig in, then, before it gets cold!"

The rest of the meal passed slowly and quietly. When it was over, Dr. Barnaby stayed a bit longer, to help give Mrs. Macready and the Professor exact directions on what to do for Peter. Lucy was allowed to come in and give her brother a good night kiss when it was time for bed, and Peter turned to face her. "Lu…?" his voice was so weak that it was barely audible, and the Professor encouraged Mrs. Macready to join him in the hall for a couple of moments.

"Oh Peter," Lucy choked, stroking his sweat-soaked hair. "I will get you well, I promise. I'm going to go back and see Mr. Tumnus, and he'll help set things right." She took his hand, which was so weak and frail now.

He smiled faintly, reaching up to stroke the ends of her hair. "Love…you," he croaked, before drifting off to sleep again. She felt tears falling down her cheeks, and watched as they splashed onto his comfortor. After the adults came back in, she stood watching as they gathered around Peter's bed to begin his nightly treatments, and clasped her hands in front of her.

"I promise," she whispered, and instead of going directly to bed, she went to the spare room.


	5. Chapter 5: The Magic Apples

Chapter 5

_The Magic Apples_

Lucy reached the wardrobe quickly, sobs still wracking her small body. She fumbled with the knob on the door, pulling it open, and pushed her way through the hoards of coats. She could see her breath coming out in white puffs, and soon, felt her feet crunching upon drifts of white snow.

It was early morning in Narnia, and the lamppost burned even more brightly than before. Lucy wrapped her arms around herself, biting her lip, and hoping she knew how to find the way to Mr. Tumnus' cave again. What she didn't know, of course, was that Edmund—who had come out of the bathroom at the same time she passed by—decided to follow her.

He'd missed her entrance to Narnia by several minutes, of course, because he had to hide from Mrs. Macready, who made an appearance to check on them. He was determined to find what Lucy was raving about. This…magical land inside the wardrobe. He wanted to catch her at her game, and put a stop to the nonsense once and for all.

Lucy, who feared she would't know the way, eventually recognized certain trees, and soon found herself knocking on the door to the faun's home. She sniffed, wiping her nose with the corner of her sleeve, and stepped back when the door opened. Mr. Tumnus merely peeked through the crack in the door, and anxiously whispered, "Who is it?" before allowing the intruder entrance.

"It's me," Lucy replied. "Lucy Pevensie."

Mr. Tumnus sighed with relief, and pulled the door open halfway. He was still wearing his nightshirt and had a night cap over his horns, looking rather silly. Lucy, however, was too upset to comment, and Mr. Tumnus helped her inside.

"Lucy?" he asked, immediately preparing cups of tea for both of them. "What are you doing here this early?"

"Well," Lucy hiccoughed, slumping down in the chair she'd used before when she came to visit, "it's actually nighttime where I'm from. My brother is still very sick," she added, as Mr. Tumnus handed her a teacup. "and since he drank the tea you gave me to give him, he's been getting worse. Oh Mr. Tumnus…please…there must be…something you can do!" she began wailing again, her great tears falling into the tea and making it splash over the sides.

The faun looked rather uncomfortable; it was clear he was not quite ready to begin the day yet, but he did not want to be rude to his guest and say so. "I am dreadfully sorry," he apologized. "it is a well known remedy of my people. Perhaps what works well with us fauns, does not work well with a son of adam. We are a different breed, you know."

Lucy took a small sip of her tea, her hands trembling. "I'm so terribly frightened, Mr. Tumnus," she whispered, accepting a fresh handkerchief. "Peter needs mother, and she can't come. She won't know if he…oh…" she set the tea on the table, and buried her face in her hands.

"Dear me oh dear me," Mr. Tumnus muttered to himself. "Let us think of what to do. Shshhsh…there there, please don't cry so, Lucy. You are breaking my heart with those tears!" he put a hand on her shoulder, and Lucy lifted her head.

"I am sorry, Mr. Tumnus," she gulped. "but…I d-don't know what t-to do."

"Let me think, now," Mr. Tumnus replied, and went over to his bookshelf, where he pulled out a thick volume. Lucy recognized the binding at once—it was a large text called, "Is Man a Myth?" and the faun brought it over to his chair, where he opened it on his lap after sitting down. He began to flip through the pages, peering closely at the chapter titles, and continuing to mutter to himself.

"What are you doing, Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy asked, listening as he muttered under his breath.

"I remember hearing a story," Mr. Tumnus began, "about a human boy who came here looking for a fruit…that saved his mother from dying. It was very long ago, however…right at the dawn of time, when this world was first created. Vey long ago in deed."

Lucy sat up straighter. "You mean…" she began, "that Narnian apples can save lives?" she wet her lips. "Do you have apples, Mr. Tumnus?"

Mr. Tumnus held up his hand for silence, and read the book very closely. "Ah, of course! Here it is: Human's First Entrance into Narnia." He pointed to the middle of the page, and looked at Lucy. "Indeed it was an apple," he said, "and I happen to love apples myself. It is a fruit that brings health to all of us, not just animals, but humans as well. I was so quick to think of our own remedies, Lucy."

Lucy managed a small smile, tapping her tea cup gently with her fingertips. "I'm afraid my brother's throat is so swollen," she began, "that he can barely take anything down. Eating an apple will hurt him so," she explained, and Mr. Tumnus thought for a moment.

"Well, it does not have to be an entire apple of course. I must admit, I am a rather skilled expert at making applesauce. That will do well for a swollen throat."

Lucy sipped from her tea, and smiled. "Ooooh," she breathed. "I do love applesauce! And I've not had it in ages…" she licked her lips at the very thought of the sweet treat. Mr. Tumnus chuckled, and shut the book, setting it aside.

"As do I, my dear friend," he replied. "I am very glad you came to see me today. I have not stopped thinking of you since you left."

Lucy stood after finishing the last of her tea, and began to help him prepare for the making of the sauce. She had absolutely no idea that Edmund was wandering about the woods, calling her name and feeling very cold and nervous.

He'd indeed found Narnia, though no Lucy. "Lu?" he called, his voice echoing amongst the endless rows of trees. "I think I believe you now!" he glanced over his shoulder when he thought he heard hoofbeats and bells, but he shook it off. "Lucy! Where are you?" he was nearly soaked to the skin from the snow, wishing he'd brought one of those old coats out of the wardrobe. He wanted nothing more than to go back to bed where it was warm and cozy, though that was not going to happen.

What did happen, however, was what he least expected for sure. The sound of hoofbeats and bells grew louder, until it was right upon him. With a cry of alarm, Edmund attempted to run out of the way, but he felt something snag his ankle and pull him roughly to the ground. He hit the snow with a thud, lying flat on his back for a moment with shock.

When his vision cleared, he realized he was staring at an enormous white carriage. Sitting in the drivers seat was a very tall woman, dressed all in white. Her hair, very long and the color of fresh wheat, hung loose at her shoulders. She carried a wand in one hand and the reins in another, and stared at him through very cold, green eyes.

Edmund immediately scrambled to his feet, though realized his foot was still tangled in the rope, and tripped when he tried to dash away. "There is no need to run," the woman told him in a smoothe voice. "No need to be frightened. Stand and face me, then, will you?"

Edmund, still feeling very uncomfortable, struggled to his feet, keeping a very close eye on the dwarf who stood beside the carriage, holding a sharp knife in his hand. "I'm…" Edmund began, but the rest of the words were lost to his lips. The extravagantly dressed woman continued to stare at him, and then smiled gently. "What, pray," she began again, "are you?"

Edmund straightened up, trying to hide his discomfort. "My name is…Edmund," he replied, a bit confused by her question, and the woman closed her eyes.

"Is that how you address a Queen?" she asked, narrowing her eyes even further, and Edmund did a double take.

"Oh, I beg your pardon your magesty, I didn't know," he apologized quickly, feeling very stupid. How he would like to give Lucy a knock about the head when he found her…for poking her nose into a place like this!

"Not know the Queen of Narnia?" the woman asked, alarmed. "Ha! You shall know us better hereafter. But I repeat, what are you? Are you a dwarf, perhaps, who has had it's beard cut off?"

Edmund wanted to ask what she meant by such a silly question, but he knew better than to try her patience. "No, your magesty" he said. "I'm a boy."

She raised her eyes, looking rather excited. "You are a Son of Adam?" she asked, lowering her wand. Edmund stood rooted on the spot, not understanding what she was going on about. "Well," she said, after a few moments of silence, "you are an idiot, I can see that. But praytell, how did you come into these parts?"

And so, Edmund told her of the spare room and the wardrobe, and how he'd been following his sister who came here before. He also told the Queen about the faun, Mr. Tumnus, and when he gave a great shiver at last, she opened up her robe.

"You must be freezing," she said. "Come, sit by me, and I will prepare a warm drink for you." She opened a small, silver phial, and allowed a tiny drop to hit the snow. In the drop's place stood a large goblet, which Edmund soon found steaming with a warm, sweet, foamy drink. He'd never tasted anything so wonderful in his life, and it warmed every inch of his body from the inside out. The dwarf who stood beside the carriage watched with a scowl on his face, but said nothing.

When Edmund was finished with his drink, the Queen asked if he would like something specific to eat. He thought for a moment, and then looked at her. "Yes, please, your magesty," he said eagerly, "might I have some Turkish Delight?"

And with that, a platter appeared out of thin air, containing piles of the sweet treat. As Edmund ate his meal, the Queen continued to ask him questions. She asked if he had anymore siblings, and, when she found out he had four, she seemed to grow even more excited, still.

"I should very much like to meet these siblings of yours," she said, as Edmund continued to eat his Turkish Delight. Edmund looked up, and raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" he asked, forgetting that he was supposed to be addressing a Queen. "They're nothing special."

"Well," she continued, "I am sure that is true…that they are not nearly as lovely as you are. However, I would very much like a boy of my own to take back to my palace, and raise as a prince and then one day have him become King of Narnia in my stead. And as a King, I am sure you will need servants, will you not?"

Edmund nearly dropped his piece of Turkish Delight. The thought of Peter, Susan and Lucy serving under him was one of the best ideas he'd ever heard.

"I would like that very much, your Majesty," he replied, and the Queen smiled, taking away his platter of Turkish Delight.

"Yes, I know you would," she replied sweetly. "Which is why, I am going to take this away. Sometimes, too much of a good thing can be harmful, you know. However…when you return to my house with your brother and sisters, there will be rooms full of Turkish Delight…I promise."

Edmund lowered his head. "Why can I not come and visit you now?" he asked, for he wanted nothing but the Turkish Delight.

"Because," she replied, "I very much wish to meet your siblings, and you will become so entranced by my house that you will forget about them. I give you my solemn word that there will be plenty of the treat for you, if you do this for me."

Edmund sighed, very annoyed in deed, and feeling rather sick from all of the sweets. "Yes, your Majesty," he replied, and she pinched his cheek gently.

"Good boy. I do hope I will see you soon?"

Edmund watched as she bundled herself in her coat again, and, with a soft "Yah!" sent the horse into motion again.

When her sleigh disappeared beyond a grove of trees, he was left alone in the cold and silence of the woods. "Lucy?" he called, suddenly remembering why he'd come, though she still didn't answer him.

Lucy was just, at that moment, helping Mr. Tumnus spread sweet honey evenly throughout the smooth applesauce. Each of them were able to eat a bowl before preparing one for Peter, and Lucy kissed Mr. Tumnus on the cheek.

"You are wonderful," she breathed, as he covered the bowl with a lid.

"I do hope your brother feels better quickly, Lucy," Mr. Tumus replied.

"Oh, so do I," Lucy answered. "I do not know how I am going to get everyone out of the room to give this to him, though…it will be a bit of a trick, as I am technically supposed to be asleep myself."

Mr. Tumnus chuckled and hugged her tight. "I will see you soon, I hope, Lucy," he said, and she gave a small wave.

"Goodbye, Mr. Tumnus, and thank you very much again," she added, and, as she left the cave, she was startled to see Edmund stumbling about and looking exceptionally peaky. "Ed!" she cried, nearly dropping the bowl of applesauce. Her older brother whirled around at her voice, and blinked through the snowflakes that fell. "Oh Ed, so you've gotten in too! I knew you would!" she gave him a great hug with her free arm. "Now the others will have to believe me, since both of us have been here! What jolly times we'll have now!" she paused, looking closely at his face. "Are you all right?" she asked. "you look awful…"

Edmund rubbed his arms, eyeing the bowl Lucy held curiously. "Well," he began, "what d'you expect? It's freezing! And how do we get out of here?"

Lucy wet her lips, and then took his hand. "Come on," she encouraged, and the two of them made their way towards the lamppost. They made their way back through the wardrobe, where they heard Peter coughing and wheezing loudy from downstairs.

"There, there, now…try to breathe through your nose," they could hear Mrs. Macready telling him, and Lucy held the hot applesauce to her breast. "Hold this for me, please…thank you."

The two youngest Pevensie children made their way down the steps, and peered though the door. The Professor and Mrs. Macready were still standing by Peter's bed, only this time, a small basin was sitting on his lap. He was sobbing and gulping for air, wheezing when the Professor dabbed at his chest and neck with a damp cloth. "I think we're getting something," the Professor said, as Peter suddenly lurched forward, and coughed up a mouthful of sticky substance into another basin. The steam from the one on his lap caused beads of sweat to pop out on his forehead and cheeks, leaving him so flushed and wax-like.

"Going to bed," Edmund told Lucy, who looked at him. Mrs. Macready seemed to sense their presence…it was almost as though she had eyes on the back of her head.

"What are you still doing up?" she asked, and Peter, swallowing, lifted his head from the basin. He caught sight of Lucy, and reached a hand out for her.

Professor Kirke nodded for Lucy to come in, even though Mrs. Macready began to protest.

"What is that you've got there?" the Professor asked, noticing the bowl in Lucy's hands, and she bit her lip.

"Applesauce," she whispered, and Mrs. Macready raised an eyebrow.

"Having a bit of a late night snack, are we?" she asked in a stern voice, and Professor Kirke chuckled.

"Now, now, Macready, a snack is perfectly harmless," he said, and Lucy shook her head.

"It isn't for me," she said softly. "it's for Peter."

Mrs. Macready gave a loud, "Hmmph! Your brother is not in the right condition for applesauce! I daresay, girl, the oddest ideas come into that head of yours."

"Well, perhaps it wouldn't hurt for Peter to have something in his stomach," Professor Kirke suggested. "He's not taken in more than a cup of tea in about three days."

"He'll choke on it," Mrs. Macready said. "he can barely breathe let alone swallow that concoction!"

Peter held Lucy's free hand when she came towards the bed, and pulled her close, so her forehead was touching his. "Lu," he choked, and she choked on a sob.

"Peter…" she whispered. "I'm all right, I promise."

He smoothed her hair, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "You're not finished yet," Mrs. Macready told Peter firmly. "You've at least five minutes left. And then we shall see about the applesauce, but I do not want to rush things."

Peter managed a weak smile when Lucy parted from him. "Love…you," he said hoarsely. He could barely say those two words before coughing again, and the Professor put a hand on Lucy's shoulder.

"That's it, my boy…cough as hard as you can."

Edmund, meanwhile, had gone back to sleep…though all he could think about was the wonderful Turkish Delight he'd been given by the Queen in Narnia.

Lucy wanted to cry, "Stop it, you're hurting him!" when Peter coughed and spat another mouthful of phlegmn, but she was crying too hard to do so.

"My dear…you should not be here for this," Professor Kirke said softly. "this is not for young eyes to see."

Peter, once he was able to take a deep breath, said, "want…sister…" he sniffed, coughing hard again.

"He is delirious, Lucy," Professor Kirke explained. "he is not in his right state of mind. Go on to bed now…we'll give him the applesauce afterwards, I promise, love."

Lucy stared at the Professor, her eyes still filled with tears, and quickly left the room before Peter could see her.

Once Peter had coughed up all he could muster, Mrs. Macready went to empty the basins. Professor Kirke bathed the sick boy's face with a clean rag, and eased him back against the pillows. "I know you are not even wanting to think about eating anything, lad," he began, taking the applesauce into his hands, "but food is essential, even if you are ill."

Peter's breathing, though still very uneven, had relaxed a bit since the menthol steam bath, but he was dead tired from the coughing. He watched as the Professor opened the lid to the applesauce, and swallowed painfully past his swollen throat. Professor Kirke gasped when he caught the scent of the mixture…it was so very familiar somehow, and not the same scent as apples in this world. There was something…strange about these, something…he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He stirred the mixture with the spoon, and dipped it in.

"Mmmm," Peter groaned as he was sitting upright against the headboard. Mrs. Macready returned at that moment with an extra blanket, and watched as Professor Kirke eased the first spoonful of applesauce into the boy's mouth.

"Pure madness, Professor," she breathed. "do you think he'll be able to stomach that at this stage?"

"I assure you," Professor Kirke replied, "he will. Macready, sometimes you need to take a step backwards, if you will allow me to be truthful. You seem to forget who is in charge of this house."

Macready started to say something in return, but thought better of it, and merely pursed her lips with a small nod. "I apologize, Professor," she said coolly.

Peter swallowed the applesauce with a bit of difficulty, but even through his plugged up nose, he was able to taste it slightly. It was the most wonderful thing he'd ever had in his life, and already, a warm, comfortable tingle spread throughout his aching body. "Good boy," Professor Kirke told him, waiting until he was ready before giving him another spoonful. Before either of the adults knew it, Peter had finished the entire bowl.

"I think he will be all right alone tonight," Professor Kirke said, once he set the empty bowl aside, and eased Peter back against the pillows and pulling the extra blanket around him.

"Professor, are you sure that's wise?" Mrs. Macready asked, as Peter's eyes drooped. The Professor touched the boy's cheek softly, and nodded.

"He'll be fine. I do believe he needs at least one night without fuss." Once Peter was sound asleep, the Professor turned down the lamp, and went to open the curtains a crack, allowing the moonlight to stream in.

"I've not had a restful sleep myself in at least three days," Mrs. Macready said, as she'd not slept a wink since the boy fell so deathly ill. "I do believe we both need it. And if he needs us, Susan is across the hall, and will hear him. I'll inform her to keep an ear open if she will."

"No fuss," Professor Kirke repeated. "there is no need to wake the other children…they are all exhausted." The two adults stood in the doorway, watching as Peter slept, occasionally shifting under the covers to stay comfortable. They shut the door part of the way, grateful to be getting some proper shut eye at last.

Lucy, meanwhile, knelt beside the bed she shared with Susan, her hands clasped together, and her head bowed. She said her prayers every night, twice a day since Peter fell sick. "I'll not ask for anything else ever if you make my brother well," she whispered, making the sign of a cross. A star twinkled brightly in the distance, catching her eye. She smiled fondly at it, before climbing carefully into bed, and snuggling in next to Susan.

The house eventually grew quiet, except for the occasional snores of Susan and Edmund. Lucy eventually closed her own eyes, tucking her hands beneath her cheek, and drifted off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6: A Miracle

Chapter 6

_A Miracle, and what the Professor Thought of it all_

The next morning once again dawned bright and clear. A robin leapt onto the windowsill of the sickroom, singing softly, and baring it's brilliant red breast. Peter groaned softly at the noise, his eyes blinking open. The room was still fairly dark, but a stream of golden sunlight passed over his face. His head still felt a tad stuffy, but his throat no longer burned, his body no longer ached, and he was no longer shaking continuously from chills. In fact, he felt quite comfortable, if it were not for the fact that merely lifting an arm used up quite a bit of energy, and he sagged against the mattress again.

"Blimey," he grunted, attemping to sit up against the headboard. He rubbed his eyes, gazing about his surroundings. The past couple of days were lost in a dream-like haze, though he caught sight of the numerous medicine bottles and bowl of water with a rag hanging over the edge. Several empty tea mugs surrounded the porcelain bowl, and a smaller bowl with a spoon sat on the corner. Peter coughed weakly into his fist, surprised to see no one sitting beside him. The house was very quiet, which meant that everyone was probably still sound asleep.

Peter was still sitting up in bed when Mrs. Macready came to check on him shorty after he'd awoken, and she stopped short, putting a hand over her heart. "Mrs. Macready?" Peter whispered, and she dashed over to the bed in a flash, feeling his forehead and cheeks with the palm of her hand.

"Oh thank the Lord," she breathed, pulling him into a shockingly tight hug. "Your fever has broken. The color is returning to your cheeks again, too."

"Are you all right?" Peter asked, startled by her sudden outpour of emotions.

"You gave us all a right scare," she told him. "deathly ill, and quite in danger of catching pneumonia." she felt his forehead again, as though she weren't convinced that his fever was truly gone. At that moment, the Professor entered, tying his robe and adjusting his spectacles.

"Good gracious," he breathed, when Peter smiled at him. "It is not lost...it is not lost." he wrung his hands, and both Mrs. Macready and Peter stared at him, confused.

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Macready asked, and Professor Kirke blinked, shaking his head.

"Nothing, nothing. How are you feeling this morning, Peter? You certainly look much better in deed."

"I'll run and fetch the doctor," Mrs. Macready announced, "so he can make sure to confirm it. I usually don't give a crow's foot what the doctors have to say, but...oh, I'm going to have to leave before I shame myself crying in front of you both!" she fled, and Peter chuckled weakly, watching as the Professor sat down in the chair beside the bed, and allowing the older man to clasp his hand.

"I am feeling better I suppose," Peter replied, sniffling. "I'm just so tired still, and weak." he pressed the back of his free hand against his nose, allowing himself to sneeze once. "_Hehkshhhh!_"

"Bless you," the Professor told him warmly, offering a fresh handkerchief. "You caught a nasty chill, but the danger is over now, I do believe."

Peter, when he finished wiping his nose, raised an eyebrow. "A chill...? Mrs. Macready said I almost had pneumonia."

Professor Kirke patted his shoulder. "Almost," he said. "you had a nasty bought of flu, and I daresay you'll be rather weak and tired for at least several days. The important thing is that your fever is gone, and your breathing has improved considerably..."

A small sob caught their attention, and both men turned. Susan stood in the doorway, still wearing her nightgown, her hair hanging loosely about her shoulders. Lucy stood at her side, and both girls were beaming. Clearly, Mrs. Macready had woken them before going to fetch Dr. Barnaby, unable to contain herself. Susan was the first to reach her older brother, resting her head in his lap, and Lucy crawled up onto the bed.

Peter bent down and kissed the top of Susan's head, giving the Professor the signal to leave the room and let them have a bit of privacy. Edmund was still sitting on the edge of his bed, refusing to go in and see Peter. The last thing he wanted to watch, was his brother being fussed over again...he couldn't stand it.

"I'll be all right, Su," Peter whispered. "I'll be all right, now."

Susan lifted her head, crawling onto the bed beside Peter, feeling like a little girl again. She held her brother's hands, which were still frail, but not ice cold as they had been the night before. "The doctor was not sure if you would make it through the end of the week, Peter," she sobbed. "oh...you were so desparately ill, and we were so frightened..."

Peter looked at Lucy, who hadn't said a word. "Come and lay beside me," he encouraged, and allowed Lucy to snuggle under the covers with him. "I've missed the both of you so much." he was a bit confused and a little disappointed that Edmund hadn't come to visit, but knew better than to press the matter. If Edmund wanted to be left alone, then it was best to adhere to his wishes.

"You won't believe it," Lucy whispered, picking at a fray on the quilt. "Edmund's been to Narnia, too! He found out how to get in through the wardrobe!"

Peter and Susan glanced at each other, and Peter sighed. "Are you still on about that, Lu?" he asked, and she stared.

"Edmund will tell you so," she promised. "I got applesauce from Mr. Tumnus the faun I told you about...and that's what made you well! He said Narnian apples have magic in them."

Susan stroked Peter's cheek, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I must admit it was a pure miracle that you survived this," she told him. "but Lu, I do wish you wouldn't keep on about your pretend world. Peter's still very tired, and he doesn't need to be bothered with such nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense," Lucy insisted. "I'll bring Edmund in myself, and have him tell you what he saw!" she slid out of the bed and dashed away, leaving Peter and Susan alone.

"I'm getting very worried about her," Peter told Susan softly.

"So am I," Susan agreed. "she hasn't stopped going on about it since you've been sick."

Peter immediately grabbed his handkerchief again, and snapped forward with more sneezes. "_Heh-Kshhh! Hukshuuu!_" he coughed and blew his nose for the second time that morning, massaging his throbbing temples.

"Bless you," Susan told him gently, rubbing his back. "the sneezes are certainly a good thing...they're usually a sign you're getting better."

At that moment, Lucy drug a distintcly annoyed Edmund into the room, and folded her arms. "Tell them, Edmund...tell them about Narnia!"

Peter and Edmund looked at each other awkwardly, and Peter lowered his handkerchief, frowning. "You saw the faun?" he croaked, and there was a moment of silence. Lucy wet her lips, glancing over her shoulder at her other brother.

"Well," she began slowly, "he didn't exactly go there with me. He..." she paused suddenly, realizing she hadn't the slightest idea where Edmund had been. He'd been stumbling about when she'd met him, and hadn't told her anything at all about his adventures. "What exactly did you do?" she added curiously.

"Edmund?" Susan asked.

Edmund, who was furious at Lucy for dragging her in to talk to Peter against his will, did the worst possible thing he could think of...he let her down.

"Oh, yes...Lucy and I have been playing...pretending that all her story about a country in the wardrobe is true. Just for fun, of course...nothing, really." he gave a mere shrug.

Horrified, Lucy gave him one look, and tore from the room. Her sobs could be heard in the distance as she ran down the hall, and Peter, forgetting his health, started to rise and get ouf of bed.

"Don't you dare, Peter!" Susan cried, forcing him back down again.

"There she goes again," Edmund scoffed. "what's the matter with her? That's the worst of young kids, they're always..."

"Shut up!" Peter snapped, his voice cracking from the strain. "You've been perfectly beastly to Lu ever since she started this nonsense about the wardrobe, and now you go on playing games with her about it and setting her off again. I believe you did it simply out of spite!"

"Peter, please," Susan begged. "You're still too weak..."

"But it's all nonsense," said Edmund, startled by Peter's response.

"Of course it is," Peter said. "that's just the point. She was fine when we left home, but since we've been down here she seems to be either going queer in the head, or else turning into a most frightful liar. But whichever it is, what good d'you think you'll do by jeering and nagging at her one day and encouraging her the...the..._hahchshhuh! hehchshhh! hehchshhh! hehehshuuu!_" he rubbed his nose weakly, still sneezing as Susan ordered Edmund to leave at once.

Edmund turned on his heel and stormed off, slamming the door behind him. "Oh he's unbearable," Susan breathed, holding Peter close. "but you really need to calm yourself, Peter...you're still very weak."

"We really must speak with the Professor about Lucy," Peter croaked, wiping his streaming nose with his handkerchief. "Oh...enough sneezing already!" he shivered, and Susan pulled the blankets more tightly around his shoulders.

"I'm so afraid that your fever may come back," Susan said, feeling his forehead quickly. "you recovered so quickly."

He glanced at her. "Thank you for helping take care of me, Susan," he said. "I needed you."

Susan pressed his hand against her lips, just as the Professor peeked in, holding a whimpering Lucy in his arms. "Did someone loose a little bug?" he asked, and Peter looked up.

"Lu?" he asked, and the Professor set Lucy to the ground. The little girl's eyes were bright red from crying, and her hair was slightly matted.

"Professor...I want to talk to you in private, please," Susan said, and Peter allowed Lucy to climb back up onto the bed with her brother. He cuddled her again, frowning slightly.

"You shouldn't let Ed bother you so," he told her quietly, and Lucy clung to him tightly.

"But...I thought...I thought...you would believe me," she choked. "the applesauce did have magic. You were dying, Peter..."

Peter gazed up at the ceiling, not quite sure what to say.

The Professor brought Susan, meanwhile, into his study, and shut the door so the two of them would not be bothered. He sat down at his great oak desk, which was cluttered with an assortment of papers, books, and other strange objects. Susan had never been inside the Professor's study, and found it fascinating indeed! "Now," Professor Kirke began, peering over his spectacles, "what happened?"

Susan sat down in one of the chairs before the desk, and folded her hands awkwardly about her lap. "Well," she began, "you see...Lucy...she thinks she's discovered a magical land inside of a wardrobe in the spare room upstairs. She said she found it the day Peter got very sick, and won't quit going on about it! I understand it is perfectly safe to have an imagination, sir, but..."

"What was it like?" Professor Kirke asked, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Why, it was like talking to someone who has lost her mind!" Susan exclaimed, and the Professor shook his head.

"No, no, you misunderstand me. What was the world like...did she describe it at all to you?"

Susan thought for a moment. "Well, no...she just mentioned a faun called Mr. Tumnus, and that it was winter there. She said Edmund came into the wardrobe too, but that can't be true, because he said he was just pretending it all happened."

Professor Kirke tapped his fingers together, looking very odd in deed. "Aha, Edmund." he cleared his throat. "a point, my dear. Which, if you were to choose between them, of your youngest siblings is the most reliable? That is to say, which is the one that is the most truthful?"

Susan could hear Peter break into another sneezing fit, and felt her fingers squeezing the armrests on the chair tightly. "That's just the funny thing about it, Professor," she began softly. "Up until this point, I would have said Lucy in a heartbeat."

"Well, then!" the Professor leaned back against his chair.

"But I don't think she's necessarily lying, sir," Susan continued. "Peter and I think there may be something worse going on..."

"Madness, you mean?" the Professor asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Oh, there is no worry at all about that. One merely has to look into Lucy's eyes and see she is not mad."

"You mean...she may be telling us the truth?" Susan asked; this was by far the last conversation she was expecting to have had with the Professor. "But Professor…that's not logical…"

The Professor gave a snort of disgust. "Logic, she says. What is it they are teaching young people in school these days?" he leaned forward. "No, there is logic here, my dear, and it is perfectly clear, you understand? There are three things that we must put into place. First, is that your sister is in deed telling the truth, because you said all of her life she's never once told a lie, and why should she start now? Secondly, I mentioned the fact that she is not mad, so clearly, she must be telling the truth."

"You said there was a third thing, sir," Susan said. "you've only mentioned two…"

The Professor smiled at her. "The third," he began, "is something I do wish you and your siblings would think of more often. And that," he continued, "is the idea of minding your own business."

Susan looked startled, but the Professor merely chuckled. "There now. I do believe Macready will be back soon with the doctor, and everything will be set to right's again."

"Oh…" Susan breathed. "Professor, do you think Peter is really and truly well?"

The Professor glanced at her. "Believe me, my dear girl, I know he is. I of all people, should truly know."

Susan nodded, thanking him for his time, and scurried out of the room. When she had shut the door behind her, the Professor stood, looking at an old wooden box that sat at the corner of his desk. It was covered with dust from not being touched in over fifty years, though when the sunlight hit it at a certain angle, it seemed to glow. He reached for it, picking it up, and held it is in his weathering hands for a moment.

He opened it at last, after clearing the dust off the lid with a blow, and peered in. Nestled deep within the blue velvet folds, sat two rings: one yellow, and one green. "Narnia," he whispered, sitting down again. He dared not touch the rings, no in deed he didn't. The last time he and his childhood friend Polly came across these rings, they entered the strange world for the first time. In fact, Narnia had not even been created yet when the Professor entered it…he and Polly had fallen into a strange land with a bright red sky, and a castle all in ruins. When he'd rang the gong after reading the magical inscription, they'd awoken the Queen Jadis, who later became the feared White Witch.Though Lucy hadn't mentioned him yet, Professor Kirke had seen Aslan, the great Lion, and watched with his very own eyes, the creation of Narnia.

And in deed, Professor Diggory Kirke would have known about Peter's recovery after eating the applesauce, because he himself had brought an apple home from Narnia to cure his ailing mother. She'd been near death as well. He shut the box, and immediately set it aside again, gazing ahead. He did not wish to tell any of this to the children; he felt that they should discover the land themselves. What baffled him most, however, was that they'd been able to get in through the wardrobe. He'd tried to enter again before, but it hadn't worked at all. 'Perhaps, as I've thought,' he wondered quietly to himself as he glanced down at his manuscript; the one that told his story, "if you can only enter when you're not looking for it." He cleared his throat, settling back down in his chair, and picked up his pen. "Fascintating, magic is," he muttered to himself.

Mrs. Macready arrived with Dr. Barnaby around lunchtime, and Susan was helping Peter finish another bowl of porridge. The physician was astounded when he realized Peter's fever had broken, for he clearly and truly thought the boy was going to die. "He still has a bit of a head cold," he told Mrs. Macready. "and a dry cough, but that is the least of our worries. I am completely confuddled, I must admit, Ma'am."

"How long will I have to stay in bed, sir?" Peter asked, still holding onto Lucy. "I'm feeling anxious to go outdoors and get fresh air again."

"I suppose this afternoon wouldn't hurt, lad," the doctor told him. "Perhaps a small cot or something can be moved onto the lawn, and he can lay down. I would not encourage any running about for at least a week. Though the danger has passed, I do not want to risk a relapse by having you overexert yourself."

"Yes, sir," he replied softly.

"Very well," Mrs. Macready said. "We will allow you outdoors while it is still high noon, and warm. Susan, there is a cot that we keep folded up for extra guests in the hallway closet, that we will bring outside.

"Do you have a wheel chair of sorts?" the doctor added, and Macready looked at him. "I do not think the boy will be well enough to walk down the stairs.

"We will carry him, then," Macready replied. "No, the Professor is in excellent health, and is not in need of a wheel chair, I thank you."

Susan came back with the fold-up cot, and the Professor was once again, called in. Dr. Barnaby offered to carry Peter, who was dreadfully embarrassed, but too weak to even think about walking down the long flight of steps to the front door. They helped him dress in fresh slacks and a warm shirt, and wrapped a quilt around his shoulders. "Thank you," he grunted, as the doctor lifted him rather easily.

"Edmund?" Susan called through her bedroom door. "We're going outside."

Edmund peeped through the door, and saw the doctor carrying Peter down the hallway, and the Professor carrying the cot. He decided to join them, sick of being in the house.

Once outdoors, Peter was placed on the cot and propped up with many pillows (two of which Lucy carried herself), and wrapped tightly with the quilt. It was actually quite warm, but Peter still felt slightly chilled. "There we are," Dr. Barnaby said smiling. "You did give us all a right scare, lad, but I think you're going to be just fine. I'm just going to talk to your guardians in private, then. Carry on."

Dr. Barnaby led Professor Kirke and Mrs. Macready over to the far side of the lawn. "His heart is not going to be the same after the fever, I'm afraid," Dr. Barnaby told them quietly. "judging just how weak he is now. This illness took quite a bit from him."

"But you think he'll live a long life, doctor?" Professor Kirke asked, and Dr. Barnaby nodded.

"I believe so, as long as he makes sure to take care of himself. Have either of the parents been written to about this?"

Mrs. Macready shook her head. "It's wartime, doctor. Post is very unreliable," she replied, and Dr. Barnaby sighed.

"Well, I would prefer that his mother and father knew of the illness, though I suppose if you do not know where they are statioined…'

"The father is off fighting, but the mother we have not heard from since the children were brought to live with me," Professor Kirke explained, watching as Lucy fell back onto the grass beside Peter's cot, giggling as Susan began tickling her.

"I see. Well, if you hear anything from either parent, I would inform them at once."

"Of course," Professor Kirke agreed. "Thank you, Dr. Barnaby, for everything. I know it is not exactly convenient for you to come out this way…we are rather isolated."

Dr. Barnaby chortled. "No, no, I don't mind at all, sir."

"Shall I bring you back, then?" Mrs. Macready asked, leading the doctor into the house again. When the two of them walked through the front door, Professor Kirke caught Peter's eye, and the two of them smiled at each other.


	7. Chapter 7: A Slow Recovery

Chapter 7

_A Slow Recovery, and The Entrance _

Peter began to regain his strength tiny bits at a time. He spent most of the mornings in bed, and would be allowed out doors in the fresh air immediately after lunch. Much to Edmund's annoyance, he was still unable to get up and run about, and was forced to sit in a chair or lay on the grass, and watch as the rest of them played games and sorts. This meant, of course, that attempting to get his siblings into Narnia was going to be an almost impossible task.

"Peter, Peter, look what I've found!" Lucy cried with delight on the third afternoon, and her oldest brother looked up from where he sat on the grass. He was still so pale and thin, but he tried to hide any discomfort with a smile.

"It's a toad!" Susan gasped, as Lucy crawled onto the quilt, placing the tiny animal into Peter's hands. It sat calmly, occasionally letting out a small croak.

"I found it down by the stream there," Lucy explained, and Peter set it down on the blanket.

"Are you starting to feel tired again?" Susan asked, noticing the somewhat droopy expression on his face. The toad hopped away at that moment, disappearing amidst the high grass. Edmund rolled his eyes from where he sat against a tree, and blew out his breath loudly.

"This is boring," he growled, and the other three looked at him.

"I'm sorry, Ed," Peter said softly, and Susan held him close.

"Well, I haven't heard you give any suggestions of things to do," she snapped, and Lucy's lower lip stuck out into a pout. She still hadn't quite forgiven Edmund for betraying her to her other siblings about being in Narnia, and did not speak to him unless absolutely necessary.

"Maybe we can play hide and seek," Edmund suggested. "Or cricket, or something."

"Either game of which Peter is much too weak for," Susan said sharply.

"You can play cricket," Peter told her quietly. "And hide and seek mightn't be so bad, either…"

"You haven't walked much since you recovered," Susan said. "I'm afraid…"

"I won't walk again if I don't start walking soon," Peter told her with a smile, and she gave him a hug. "but I may need some help."

Lucy hopped to her feet immediately, and Edmund remained on the grass, giving his brother a look. "What are we going to do, then?" he asked, as Susan allowed Peter to put his arm around her shoulders, and Lucy stood at the ready while she began to help him to his feet.

"We'll go and get the cricket set," said Susan. "There, Peter…are you all right?"

"Let go for a moment," he told her, and she bit her lip, hesitating. "Susan, I want to try this."

She did as he told her, and Peter stood up as straight as he could. His legs felt like jell-o, after having been bed-ridden for so long, but he was determined to make the walk from the yard to the house himself. Everyone watched as he took slow, careful steps across the grass, his eyes focused on the door of the mansion.

"You can do it, Peter," Lucy called, and Susan had her mouth covered with her hands.

"He's so weak," Susan said sadly. "it's painful to watch him struggle to walk like that…"

"He's doing wonderfully," Lucy said, beaming with pride, and dashed after Peter.

"_HehChshhh_!" one sneeze sent Peter tumbling back to the grass, and Susan cried out, startled.

"You're overexerting yourself," she scolded, as he sat, accepting a handkerchief from Lucy. "Do let one of us help you, please…"

"Su, I'll be fine." Peter insisted, and she let out a small laugh.

"Oh, the fact that just a sneeze knocked you down makes you fine?" she asked, and Peter cleared his throat.

"If you would quit fussing, Su, I think I'll be able to manage just fine," Peter snipped, a little irritated. This was one of the worst things about recovering from an illness; the fact that his family swarmed around him wanting to help him with every little thing. He appreciated their thoughtfulness, but on occasion, they became a bit smothering.

"At this rate," Edmund glowered, "it's going to take us until dinner time just walking back and forth."

"You feel cold," Lucy said softly as she felt Peter's hands, and wrapped an arm around her.

"Come on," Susan encouraged, taking his other arm. Mrs. Macready, when they entered the house, was shocked to see Peter walking.

"I thought you had better sense!" she gasped, noticing how ghastly white his face had become from the journey.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Macready," Peter insisted, and she touched his cheeks and forehead.

"You're horribly flushed," the house keeper replied harshly. "and you're trembling. We're bringing you up to bed this instant."

"No," Peter begged. "Please...I don't need to be in bed...I need to practice walking, and...it's not truly that bad."

Susan glanced at Mrs. Macready, smoothing the back of Peter's head as they headed into the sitting room. "Perhaps we should listen to him," she suggested, and Peter looked at her with grateful eyes. Mrs. Macready started to protest, but gave a huff.

"Well, whatever you are planning on doing, it had better be done inside, or he'll catch a chill. And then where would we all be? Back where we started from!" she turned on her heel and stalked off. When she was out of earshot, Lucy suddenly began giggling, and Edmund stood off to the side.

"I wonder what happened to her when she was a girl," Susan wondered aloud, as they eased Peter onto one of the couches, covering his legs with a blanket.

"She's awfully sour," Lucy snickered, and Peter sighed wearily.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and Susan squeezed his hand.

"No," she insisted. "it's not your fault. The Macready's right; you really should be resting. Perhaps we could try again tomorrow."

Edmund groaned a little too loudly, and leaned roughly against the wall. Tomorrow seemed ages away, and who knew if Peter was going to truly feel stronger by then? He was craving the Queen's Turkish Delight more than ever now, and was half-tempted to just go back to Narnia by himself and see her. _I don't get why she really has to have all four of us, _he thought, as Susan went to pull out the great dictionary again.

Mrs. Macready returned shortly thereafter with a tray filled with a teapot and teacups, toast, and raspberry preserves. She checked Peter's temperature, which was still normal, though she was not pleased by how cold he felt. "Would you like an extra blanket?" she asked, and he nodded, still shivering beneath the quilt.

"Yes please," he replied, and Susan rubbed his arms vigoursly. When Mrs. Macready walked out again, Peter let out a small sob, pressing the back of his hand against his lips. Lucy glanced up, staring.

"Oh Peter..." she gasped, as he began crying softly, trying his best to stifle the noise. "Peter, it's going to be all right, truly," Lucy promised. "It's going to be all right." she hugged him, and he sniffed.

"I'm failing Mum," he croaked. "I'm supposed to be looking out for you."

Susan kissed his forehead. "You're doing just fine," she promised, and Lucy gasped.

"Say, I have a brilliant idea," she breathed.

"What's that?" Susan asked, and Peter, after drying his eyes, looked interested.

"What is it, Lu?" he asked, and she grinned.

"Well," she wet her lips. "I can bring you to see the wardrobe. Peter's never seen it," she added.

Edmund immediately straightened up, and Susan swallowed. "Lu, for heaven's sake! That's all the way upstairs, and Peter could barely walk across the lawn! What are you thinking of?" she asked, and Lucy smiled.

"Mrs. Macready didn't say you couldn't walk at all, right?" she asked, and Peter rubbed his nose, nodding.

"Well..."

"Yes," Edmund agreed, and everyone turned to him. "I mean, he's heard all about the wardrobe, but he hasn't seen it for himself."

"You said it was nothing, Ed," Peter replied with a scowl, and Lucy looked at Edmund with narrowed eyes.

"Well...I well..." Edmund gave a shrug. "it's worth having a look anyway, isn't it?"

Peter sighed, and Susan squeezed his shoulder. "It's up to you," she said, and he looked at Lucy.

"I have wondered what it looks like," he admitted, and she clapped her hands.

"Oh good!" she said, just as Macready came in with the spare quilt.

"We're going to take a walk upstairs," Susan said to the housekeeper.

"Now I don't know," Mrs. Macready began. "the stairs?"

"I'm sure I can do it if I really try," Peter promised. "The girls will be able to hold onto me if I get tired."

"What are you planning to do when you go upstairs?" Mrs. Macready asked, sounding curious, and Lucy bit her lip.

"Just exploring," she said, and the housekeeper gave a grunt.

"I suppose if you feel you're up to it, then as long as you're very careful. If he starts to wheeze at all, you bring him to bed at once," she added, and Susan nodded.

"We will," she promised, and once again, Peter was helped to his feet. Susan and Lucy each took one of his arms, and led him slowly out of the sitting room. Edmund followed close behind, trying not to seem too eager, and soon took the lead.

"_heh...huhKeshhh! Hehchshhh!_" Peter sneezed as they climbed the steps, and sniffed again. "it is awfully dusty up here," he said, and Susan smirked.

"Well," she said, "the house is old. I'm not sure how long it's been since anyone used these rooms. There must be at least a hundred!"

"It would take a month to explore everything," Lucy agreed with a nod.

"Have you been able to get into any of the other rooms, Lu?" Peter asked, as they eventually reached the hallway where the wardrobe was located. The journey up the steps wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected, though the dustier the house became, the more itchy his nose became.

"Not very many," Lucy admitted. "most of the doors are locked."

"The Professor's study is quite interesting," Susan pointed out, and Peter glanced at her.

"It seems like ages since we've lived here," Lucy spoke, as they stood in front of the spare room door. She let go of Peter's arm so she could go and open it, and Susan wrapped an arm around his waist for more support. "It was all covered up when I first saw it," she explained, dashing in. Susan brought Peter further into the room, and he watched as Lucy opened the wardrobe door.

"What's inside?" Peter asked, peering through the coats.

"Just fur coats I think," Lucy replied.

"Wonder how far back it goes." Peter turned to Susan, who gave him a warning look.

"Oh Peter, you wouldn't," she breathed, and he smiled.

"Im just curious," he admitted, and she let go of him. Edmund and Lucy watched as he made his way towards the wardrobe, parting the coats and peering inside. He looked over his shoulder. "This goes really far back," he said. "Come on, Susan...it's not dangerous." he stepped in, and she threw her hands over her head.

"You are impossible!" she exlcaimed.

"I'll go in first if you're too scared," Edmund teased, and Lucy rolled her eyes.

"I'm most definitely not scared!" she exclaimed. "I went in first, remember?"

"Ohhhh!" Peter's sudden shout of alarm seemed to echo, and all three jumped. Lucy gasped, and stepped into the wardrobe

"Are you all right?" Susan called, and his voice responded,

"You're not going to believe this!"

"I told you! I told you!" Lucy squealed, climbing after him, and soon, all four of them made their way in, grunting as they practically stepped on top of each other. Though the wardrobe did go very far back, it wasn't very wide, so it was very uncomfortable for more than one person to go through at a time. When Susan reached Peter, she gasped...he turned to her, his eyes wide.

"Is it normal to see pine trees in the back of a wardrobe?" he asked, and she reached over his shoulder, touching the branches...they were certainly as real as the hair on her head.

"Keep going," Lucy encouraged, and Susan held onto Peter's arm.

"It's cold!" she exclaimed. "Peter, we shouldn't..."

But Peter was too entranced by what he saw to want to go back. He struggled to stand up from where he'd tumbled, and realized he'd been sitting in soft, white snow. When he looked up, he realized he was staring at a mountainous land, covered in white. He and Susan stepped out of the wardrobe first, and Peter could see his breath coming out in white puffs. "Impossible!" Susan cried, and Lucy looked at them excitedly, watching as Edmund tumbled into the snow next.

For a moment, all of them stood staring in silence, and Peter turned to Lucy, his eyes slightly tearful. "Oh Lu," he breathed. "I suppose...saying I'm sorry wouldn't quite put everything to rights, would it?"

Lucy smiled, and went to hug him. He looked at Edmund, his eyes narrowing. "And you little liar," he said weakly. "You were telling the truth all along, weren't you?"

Susan gulped, touching Peter's arm. "You're going to catch cold if we keep standing out here like this," she said. "I'm sorry, Lucy...but now that we've seen it, we should go back."

"I do want to meet Mr. Tumnus," Peter announced, after Edmund suggested they try exploring. "to thank him. I feel much better."

"You look much better," Lucy gasped, peering into her eldest brother's face. "Your cheeks...look how wonderfuly rosy!"

Peter turned to Susan, who blinked. He'd been so pale and shaky before they'd come through the wardrobe; he looked much stronger and healthier standing here in the snow.

"I'm still not sure it's a good idea," Susan said quietly. "first of all, we've no coats, and it's freezing! Secondly, what were we planning on doing for food and water?"

Peter looked at her. "I owe Lucy this much," he said. "I owe it to her to explore a little."

"Oh Peter," Lucy sobbed, and he nodded towards the wardrobe. "We'll nip some coats from there," he added, "and technically, we wouldn't even be removing them from the wardrobe at all, if you think about it."

Susan, Edmund and Lucy watched as Peter disappeared for a moment, and waited anxiously as he collected coats for each of them. When he came back, he passed them out, and smirked at Edmund's disgust at his grey and black fur.

"This is a girl's coat!" he exclaimed, annoyed, and Peter shrugged, slipping into his own brown and black mink coat.

"I know," he replied simply, and Edmund scowled.

"You can be an idiot sometimes, Peter," he snapped, and Susan, after wrapping her coat around herself, hurried up to Peter, grabbing his arms.

"Do reconsider," she breathed. "This mightn't be safe!"

Peter smiled confidendtly. "We'll go and visit with Mr. Tumnus," he said, "and we'll come straight home."

"We just have to make sure we know how to get back to the lamppost," Lucy said, and pointed ahead. Sure enough, there was the lamppost a few feet away. It was still burning, and it's pole covered with frost.

"Lead the way, Lu," Peter encouraged, allowing his youngest sister to take his hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Susan and Edmund, who were watching with raised eyebrows, and motioned with his free arm to follow them. "Come on, you two," he ordered, and, at last, they gave in.


	8. Chapter 8: In Which more bad news comes

Chapter 8

_In which more bad news comes and decisions are made_

Lucy could hardly contain her excitement when she prepared to lead her siblings to Mr. Tumnus's cave. Susan kept close beside Peter, as though afraid he might keel over at any moment, and Edmund walked a few feet behind, still quiet and sulky.

"Mr. Tumnus is perfectly lovely," Lucy announced, frowning as Peter coughed. "You'll adore him!" she suddenly stopped short, nearly causing Peter to fall over her. He was about to inquire what she stopped for, but his question was answered merely seconds afterwards.

Before them stood a great cave, with a door built in. The door had been broken open, and was hanging barely from its hinges. Lucy cried out in alarm, and hurried ahead.

"Lu, wait!" Peter begged, and when they peered through the doorway, the sight was horrifying. Someone had broken in, knocking everything over. Lucy pushed aside the debris, stepping in, and Susan took Peter's arm to help him through the narrow archway. She held him tightly while they explored, and found it difficult to take everything in at once.

"I wish I had two more pairs of eyes," Peter told them, gazing up at the low ceiling. He coughed again, the winter chill starting to go into his bones. Susan rubbed his arms briskly, and looked at Lucy.

"Who would do something like this?" Lucy gasped, tears brimming her eyes. mm

"I'm so sorry, Lu," she said softly, and Peter noticed something white flapping about out of the corner of his eye. "What's that…" he eased away from Susan to go and inspect what he discovered was a piece of parchment hanging from a nail. He tugged it off, and Lucy clung to his arm, waiting for him to tell her what it said.

Edmund stood off to the side, still glancing around nervously, bundling himself in his fur coat.

"The faun, Tumnus, is hereby charged with high treason against her imperial majesty Jadis, the Queen of Narnia. For comforting her enemies and fraternizing with humans. Signed, Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police." Peter rubbed his nose when he finished reading the parchment, and turned to sneeze quickly. "_HuhKshhuuh!_"

"Bless you," said Susan softly, and she wrapped her arms around him. "You're half frozen."

Lucy bit her lip, staring at her older siblings with wide, anxious eyes. "We have to help him!" she exclaimed, and Peter smiled faintly.

"It's out of our hands, Lu," he whispered. "and Im starting not to feel well again. I think we should go back," he told Susan, who reached up to feel his forehead to be on the safe side.

"No, we can't," Lucy sobbed. "don't you get it? I'm the human! He's in trouble for being with me!"

Susan's gulped.

"We should call the police," Peter told her, she hung her head.

"They are the police," she said, pointing to the paper. "and if Mr. Tumnus is in trouble for just fraternizing with humans, then it's not safe here. And Peter, you're going to come down with pneumonia for sure if we continue to stand here in the cold! You're already starting to cough again." She listened as he attempted to hide another series of coughs into a fist, and he shook his head.

"But we can't just leave Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy wailed. "He saved Peter's life as well as mine!"

Peter looked at her, and then at Susan, who opened her mouth to protest again. "Lu's right," he said. "we have to do something." He bent down and took both of Lucy's hands in his, brushing a tear away from her cheek. "I promise we'll help him," he said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"But he's a criminal!" Edmund injected, and Susan glared.

"You'll feel well soon, Peter," she whispered. "we're in Narnia, and the magic here will help." She kissed his cheek gratefully, and at that moment, a robin perched on the windowsill.

"Look!" Lucy gasped, and Peter stared…it looked like the bird that had hopped onto his window when he first opened his eyes after recovering from the fever.

"Psst!"

Susan stared. "Did that bird just…pssst…to us?" she asked, and Peter pressed the back of his wrist against his runny nose, sniffling.

"I think so," he replied, clearing his throat.

"Oh," Lucy gasped, and found the barrel that Mr. Tumnus kept his apples in, and snatched one. "I don't think he'll mind," she said, as she placed one into Peter's hand. "You'll feel better."

"An apple?" Peter asked, and she nodded.

"Your fever broke right after Professor Kirke gave you the applesauce," she explained, and he rolled the piece of fruit in his palm. He wasn't very hungry at all, but decided to take a small bite anyway, just to humor Lucy. They stepped out into the snow, and glanced up at the robin, who bared it's bright red breast at them and gave another, "psst!" before hopping and flying to another tree branch.

"_Heh—hehKSHHHH! HuhEsHHHH!_" Peter rubbed his nose again, wishing he'd remembered to pocket a handkerchief before leaving the house. Of course, he hadn't expected to come into a winter wonderland through the wardrobe, either.

"Bless you!" Susan and Lucy told him, and suddenly, a snap and the sound of pattering feet in the snow made them all pause. "Come on," Susan encouraged, and the four of them started forward, but stopped when they heard the sound of a branch snapping and a pitter patter of feet on the snow.

"_Chshhhuh!_" Peter buried his nose against his wrist, and sniffed. "I can't stop sneezing," he croaked, and Susan rubbed his back.

"Lu, do you have a fresh handkerchief?" she asked softly, and Lucy reached into the pocket of her skirt, shaking her head. Another snap and more pitter patter filled their ears, and the four siblings backed away, not quite sure what to think or do.

Peter, still holding Susan's hand, peered through the grove of bushes, from which the noise came, and saw a dark figure dash past. He encouraged Edmund and the girls to follow him, and they moved very slowly through the snow. "What did you see?" Susan whispered into his ear. "an animal?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Perhaps a bear!" she added, and he smiled softly at her.

Before they knew it, the figure Peter had seen slid fast down the snowy slope, and stopped in front of them. Peter and Susan stared at each other, and Lucy's mouth hung open.

"It…it's a beaver!" she gasped, and Peter grinned at once.

"Of course, I see it now," he said. "look at the tail!" He clucked his tongue, the same noise people use to call a dog to them. "Here, boy," he whispered, holding out his fingers and snapping them gently. The beaver stood on it's hind legs, cocking its head to one side. He clucked again, and moved closer, sticking out the palm of his hand for the beaver to come to.

For a moment, silence came between them, and then the beaver did something neither of the Pevensie children expected—it spoke!

"I ain't gonna smell it if that's what you're expecting," the beaver…a male beaver…said, and Susan gasped aloud.

"Sorry," Peter apologized, as Edmund spoke up at last…

"It's a talking beaver!"

The beaver made it's way to Lucy, and stuck out it's paw. "Lucy Pevensie?" he asked, and Peter looked at his baby sister, watching as she swallowed anxiously.

"Yes?"

The beaver produced something white and soft, which turned out to be a handkerchief. Lucy took the cloth from the animal's outstretched paw, and held it tight for a moment. Peter coughed, and Susan touched his arm, rubbing his back, and helped him to sit down on a fallen log.

"It's the handky I gave to Mr…" Lucy finally began, and the beaver nodded.

"Tumnus," he finished. "Yeah. He gave it just before they took him."

"Where did they take him?" she asked, and Mr. Beaver shook his head quickly.

"Not here," he said in a low voice. "come on, then…follow me, if you will."

Susan stood when the beaver scurried off, and Peter got to his feet also.

"We should follow him, I suppose," Peter announced, and Ed snorted.

"How do we know we can trust him?" he asked, and the other three stared.

"He said he knows the faun," Peter replied simply, and Susan raised her arms in exhasperation.

"He's a beaver," she exclaimed. "He shouldn't be saying anything! You're still ill, and it's getting colder by the minute! I say we go back," she breathed. "it's not safe to stay, I don't think."

Mr. Beaver popped his head between the grove of bushes that very moment, startling them into silence. "Are you four coming?" he asked, and Peter cleared his throat, nodding.

"Yes," he replied. "we were just talking."

"Well, best save any talkin' for safer quarters," Mr. Beaver whispered, and Lucy looked at him.

"But…who would be listening?" she asked, as Peter put a hand on her shoulder. "No one's here but us!"

The beaver pointed up. "The trees," he answered. "they're always listening. Most of them are on our side, but I've no doubt that there are a few who would betray us to her. So, keep your voices down, and hurry after me."

At last, the four siblings decided it was safer to follow the beaver rather than stand shivering in the snow. The journey was a bit slower than either of them would have liked, but Peter was still finding his feet, and moved slower than usual. He was near fainting from exhaustion when at last, they reached Mr. Beaver's dam.

"Here we are!" he announced, pointing to it proudly with his paw.

"Oh!" Lucy breathed. "It's lovely," she complimented, and the animal chuckled.

"Aha," he said. "merely a trifle, merely a trifle. And judging by the stream of smoke coming out of the chimney, I'd say Mrs. Beaver has begun preparing dinner. I hope you're all hungry."

Susan grinned. "You've read our minds," she replied, and Mr. Beaver once again took the lead. At last, they reached the hut, and were grateful to step into the Beaver's warm, cozy home. Peter started coughing as he removed his jacket, his teeth chattering from the damp. Mrs. Beaver was thrilled to have visitors, and absolutely ecstatic to learn that they were human.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day!" she exclaimed. "Welcome, welcome! Do come in and make yourselves right at home, dearies."

Susan, whose stomach growled, beamed. "Do you need any help, Mrs. Beaver?" she asked, watching as Lucy talked quietly to Mr. Beaver, occasionally nodding to Peter, who had taken a seat by the fire.

"Ah," Mr. Beaver said nodding in understanding. "A good cup of apple cider will do him some good. Seems like one of them is a bit ill, Mrs. Beaver…you don't happen to have anything warm for him to drink, eh?"

"Of course, of course. Just put on a pot of chocolate moments ago. You just sit there and rest, dear…don't worry about a thing." She told Peter, giving Susan a blanket to wrap around him.

"Are you sure you don't need…" he started, and Susan shook her head.

"Just sit and rest," she whispered, and eventually, she and Lucy began to help Mrs. Beaver set the table, while Mr. Beaver went out to catch a fresh batch of fish. Each of them were given a mug of hot cocoa, which was heavenly when they tried it. When the dinner was ready, the smell was so mouth watering that even Peter, who hadn't eaten much since his fever broke, felt his stomach roaring madly.

"Here," Susan encouraged, helping him to his feet, and leading him over to the miniature table. Edmund hadn't said much at all since they arrived at the dam, though the other three were getting used to that now.

"This looks delicious," Lucy told the Beavers as she waited politely for everyone to help themselves to the food, and when Mr. Beaver gave the word, they began to dig in.

"Don't eat too fast," Susan warned Peter, and Mrs. Beaver laughed gently.

"My dear, I am sure he is perfectly capable of going for one meal without fuss, mmm?" she asked, and Susan blushed.

After dinner and another round of hot chocolate, Mr. Beaver lit up his pipe, and gathered them around the fireplace. "Now," he said gruffly, "that we've all been fed, we can pay close attention to what I'm going to tell you."

The children leaned forward, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"Oh…" Lucy begged, "do please tell us what happened to Mr. Tumnus!"

Peter took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

"Ah," Mr. Beaver said, through puffs of smoke. "as I said…that's a bad business a very bad business in deed. He was taken away by the police merely two days ago."

Peter stared. "Do you have any idea where they've taken him?" he asked, tuggin the blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

"Are you still cold, dear?" Mrs. Beaver asked, sounding concerned, and Peter shook his head.

"Well," Mr. Beaver continued, "last I heard of him they were bringing Tumnus up North. And we all know what that means." He narrowed his eyes.

Peter sniffed, and shook his head. "Sorry," he apologized. "No…we're strangers here, you see."

The beavers glanced at each other. "They're taking him to Her," Mr. Beaver continued.

"He means the White Witch," Lucy explained, seeing that Peter and Susan were still confused. "she's the one who makes it always winter here in Narnia." She turned back to Mr. Beaver. "Oh, but…whatever will she do to Mr. Tumnus when she gets a hold of him?"

"Well," Mr Beaver replied, "no one really knows for sure. But there's not many taken to her house who come out again. All full of statues they say it is…in the courtyard and up the stairs and in the hall. People she's…" he paused. "turned to stone."

Peter suddenly turned away, trying to stifle another sneeze, but failing rather miserably at it. "_HemMmmpshh!_" he was blushing furiously, glad that the heat from the flames already made his cheeks rosy. "sorry," he quickly apologized, and Susan smiled at him.

"But there must be something we can do to help him, Mr. Beaver!" Lucy cried. "It's too horrible, and it's all my fault if it happens!"

"Lucy's right," Peter agreed. "there has to be something we can do to save Mr. Tumnus. Some kind of strategy, I mean."

"What are you thinking about, Peter?" Susan asked, and he looked at his lap for a moment.

"We could pretend to be peddlers or something along the like," he said. "disguises, that sort of thing, and sneak into her house."

"Oh you're batty," Susan gasped. "are you sure you're feeling all right?"

He smirked, and Mr. Beaver shook his head. "There's no use in your trying to save him, son of Adam…not you of all people. But now that Aslan is on the move…"

"Wait, who?" Lucy asked, and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver stared at one another, as if they were mad.

"Who is Aslan?" Mr. Beaver cried. "Blimey, she's not serious is she?"

"We're sorry," Peter apologized. "we don't know much about this place." He felt Susan lean her head against his shoulder, the heat from the fire and the full meal in her stomach making her sleepy. He wrapped an arm around her and leaned his head against hers, not really taking notice that once again, Edmund hadn't said a single word since supper ended.

"Well tell them, dear," Mrs. Beaver encouraged, fetching a pile of fresh handkerchiefs, and passing them over to Peter.

"Aslan," Mr. Beaver continued, "is the King of course! The King of the entire wood! Though he's not often here, you see…never in my time, anyway, or my father's tiem. But the word has come that he's come back. In fact, he is in Narnia at this very moment, and will settle everything to rights."

"She won't turn him into stone, too?"

Peter jumped…Edmund was standing right behind him, his eyes narrowed, and Mr. Beaver gave a loud guffaw.

"Lord love you, Son of Adam, what a simple thing to say!" Mr. Beaver chortled. "Turn him into stone! If she can stand on her two feet and look him in the face it'll be the most she can do and more than I can expect of her. No, he'll put everything righta gain."

"Shall we meet him?" Susan asked, watching as Peter pulled Lucy onto his lap.

"That's what I brought you here for!" Mr. Beaver exclaimed. "I'm to lead you to where you shall meet him."

"Is he a man, Mr. Beaver?" Lucy asked.

"A man? No, certainly not! He is the King…the King of beasts, that is!"

Peter blinked. "He's a lion!" he breathed, and Susan stared.

"Oooh! Is he quite safe? I swore Aslan was going to be a man."

Mr. Beaver chuckled. "Oh, no, he's not safe at all, but he's good. Yes, he's good."

The children were quiet again, and Peter gave another cough, sipping from a fresh cup of hot chocolate. "I am longing to see him," he admitted. "even if I will feel frightened when it comes to the point."

"That's right," Mr. Beaver agreed with a nod. "And so you shall. I'm going to take you to him tomorrow, at the stone table."

"Where's that?" asked Lucy.

"It's down the river, a good step from here."

"What about poor Mr. Tumnus?" she added, a bit disappointed that the beavers hadn't brought the faun up again.

"The quickest way you can help him is by going to meet Aslan," Mr. Beaver answered her. "once he's with us, then we can start doing things. Not that we don' tneed you too…here's a rhyme you should know:

_When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone_

_Sits at Cair Paravel in throne,_

_The evil time will be over and done. _

I hope you know about the prophecy? That's the main reason you can't go and rescue Mr. Tumnus yourselves, and risk being captured or worse."

The blank stares of the children made Mr. Beaver throw his paws up in exhasperation. "You don't know, you don't know!" he cried. "she's always on the look out, the white witch, for humans in Narnia. There's a prophey that when two son's of adam and two daughters of eve enter Narnia and take the four thrones at the castle, her reign will end."

Peter rubbed his nose after setting down his mug. The information was overwhelming, though he was feeling much better in general since supper and the cocoa. "That's just what I don't understand," he admitted. "Mr. Beaver, isn't the witch herself…human?"

"Ha! She'd like people to believe she is," Mr. Beaver replied with a snort. "Not a bloody drop of human blood in her at all. She makes her claim as Queen of Narnia because she looks human. You see, she comes of your father Adam's…first wife. They called her Lilith. And she was one of the Jinn…that's what she comes from on one side. And on the other she comes from the giants. No, no, there is no human in her."

"That's why she's bad all around," Mrs. Beaver explained."

"So…the four of us…and the four thrones at Cair Paravel…" Peter blinked. "because the prophecy states that when humans take the four thrones her reign will end…"

"Yes," Mr. Beaver nodded vigorously. "Yes, you've got it."

He looked at Susan and Lucy. "There must be a mistake," he quickly added. "we're not heroes. I was just really ill, and couldn't possibly help battle the witch…and…"

"No, there's no mistake," Mr. Beaver replied. "not if Aslan is on the move."

Susan grasped Peter's arm. "We have to go," she said sternly. "Peter, we have to go back."

He nodded, and the beavers were horrified. "Go!" Mrs. Beaver gasped. "You couldn't!"

"This is not for us to do," Susan told her.

"Oh…but…" Mrs. Beaver began, when Lucy suddenly gasped,

"Say…where is Edmund?"

Peter and Susan stared at each other, and Peter looked behind him. Edmund had been standing there merely minutes before, but now, sure enough, he was gone. The three remaining siblings stood up immediately, and looked around the main room frantically.

"Who saw him last?" Susan asked, and Peter shrugged, looking anxious.

"D'you think he's outside?" Lucy cried, rushing over to the coat hooks on the wall. "His fur coat's missing," she gasped, and Peter blinked.

"I'm going to kill him," he snarled. "if he's run off, I'm going to kill him."

Mr. Beaver looked worried. "You mightn't have to," he said softly, as they stepped out into the snow after putting on their coats.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, sniffling as the cold struck him.

"Has your brother ever been in Narnia before?" he asked, and Lucy nodded.

"Yes, he has," she replied, rubbing Peter's arms and trying to keep him warm.

"And he didn't tell you anything about his visit, did he?"

She thought for a moment, and shook her head. "No," she admitted. "he didn't."

"Then my suspicions are correct," Mr. Beaver said. "he's met her, no doubt. And that's exactly where he's gone. Her house…the white witch. He's betrayed us all!"

"Oh really!" Susan breathed, her lips trembling. "He can't have done that!"

"Mark my words," Mr. Beaver told her. "I saw it in his eyes when I first met him. He had that treacherous look, you know…the look of someone who has met the white witch and eaten her food. You can always tell who has been with her when you've lived here in Narnia long enough…something about their eyes."

The three remaining siblings were silent.

"We have to go and find him," Peter said. "we can't just leave him here, even if he is a beast. He's just a kid!"

"Go to the white witch's house?" Mrs. Beaver cried. "Don't you see that the only chance of saving yourselves is keeping away from her? She's using your brother as bait, you see…she's luring you to her with him, so she can capture you and destroy the prophecy."

"Right you are, Mrs. Beaver," Mr. Beaver agreed. "no, there's nothing to be done for your brother. Only Aslan can help him now."

Peter blew out his breath, and then Mrs. Beaver suddenly had a thought. "It seems to me, that we ought to remember just what point in time he slipped away. How much did we tell him while he was here? Was he here when we spoke of Aslan and the Stone table?"

Peter thought for a moment, biting his lip. "Yes, he was," Lucy replied. "Don't you remember…it was he who asked whether the white witch could turn Aslan to stone too?"

Peter groaned. "Yes he did," he agreed. "just the sort of thing he would say, too!"

"Because of that," Mr. Beaver continued, "she'll know where to go, and simply sledge her way down and come between us and Aslan. The moment Edmund tells her about us, she'll leave, I'e no doubt. If he's been gone for a half hour, she'll be here in about twenty minutes."

"Then we'd better get out of here," Peter exclaimed. He felt very ill and tired…the cold weakened him. "fast, if we want to get out of her way."

"Let us pack some previsions, first," Mrs. Beaver announced. "come on, dearies, out of the chill…you're looking peaky for sure, and could do with a bit of cocoa before we depart."

"But…" Susan began, and Mrs. Beaver without another word, bustled into the dam. Mr. Beaver looked furious, and groaned loudly, slapping his tail against the snow in frustration.

"Do be reasonable, Mrs. Beaver…we've no time, we've no time!"

"Of course we do! We have to have some provisions for the journey, food and the like, and I know how cranky you get when you don't eat!"

"But I'm cranky now!" Mr. Beaver exclaimed, and the four of them shoved back into the dam.

Unfortunately, Mr. Beaver's warning about the white witch being on her way was correct in deed; coming closer and closer, a pack of wolves moved towards the river, their growls echoing in the winter night. Maugrim and his pack, the white witch's own secret police.


	9. Chapter 9: The Road Not Taken

Chapter 9

_The Road Not Taken_

Peter, Susan, Lucy and Mr. Beaver waited anxiously while Mrs. Beaver moved about the dam.

"We really should go now," Peter told her as she flung open the pantry.

"Now don't worry," Mrs. Beaver soothed. "she'll not be here for a time yet." She pulled out four loaves of bread, and Susan took a jar of raspberry preserves.

"Do you think we'll need jam?" she asked, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Only if the witch serves toast!" he retorted. "Mrs. Beaver, please be reasonable. Even if she won't be here for a time, we'll want to get a head start, won't we?"

Mr. Beaver nodded in anxious agreement, trying to hurry his wife along again. Mrs. Beaver handed Peter a stack of clean handkerchiefs, before muttering to herself whether it would be too much if she brought along the old sewing machine.

"Yes!" Mr. Beaver shouted. "It would! Come on, Mrs…let's go!"

As annoyed at the delay as he was, Peter was grateful for the fresh handkerchiefs, and blew his running nose with one.

"One more thing, then," Mrs. Beaver announced, and they all groaned loudly.

Indeed, though, it was the very last thing, and after passing a bundle to each of them, Mrs. Beaver encouraged her husband to lead them through the secret tunnel that would bring them outside. "This should lead to Badger's place," Mr. Beaver explained, and Mrs. Beaver gave him a slightly annoyed look.

"I thought you said it lead to your Mum's!"

And, much to their desperation, they began to crawl through. If it was narrow for beavers, it was exceptionally uncomfortable for human beings. Peter desparately wanted to sneeze from all of the dust and damp, but he held his breath whenever he felt one creeping up.

They suddenly heard barks and howls, and everyone gasped in terror. "Oh no!" Susan hissed, pausing midway through the tunnel. "She's already here!"

"Well not her," Mr. Beaver whispered, as he beckoned for them to move onward. "Her police." They suddenly reached a dead end, and everyone looked at each other with pure panick on their faces.

"They're in the tunnel," Susan gasped, as the growling and barking grew louder. She grabbed Peter's arm and drug him along, as the beavers continued arguing with each other.

"You should have brought a map!" Mrs. Beaver snapped, and Mr. Beaver raised his paws in irritation.

"There was no room next to the jam!" he finally motioned for them to climb up the stone wall, which contained an opening just large enough for them to pull themselves through on their stomachs. They crawled out onto a snowy courtyard, and realized they were standing before another home. Lucy gasped…there were several animals turned to stone surrounding them, one including a badger.

Mr. Beaver walked close to the stone statue of his good friend, and Peter felt his stomach clench. He knew exactly how Mr. Beaver felt, loosing someone you were close to. Mrs. Beaver put a paw on her husband's back as he touched the statue with the tip of his nose, lowering his head.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she whispered, and Susan crept up beside Peter, watching the all too familiar emptiness fill his eyes again. Peter had lost his best friend, Ethan Hunt, to the same attack of measles that had almost taken his own life as well. Even though two years passed since the tragedy, Peter occasionally felt periods of cold and emptiness inside, an ache that never seemed to leave him.

"He was my best mate," Mr. Beaver said sadly, and Peter gulped.

"Oh!" Lucy cried out as she tripped backwards over something hard, and she gasped in pain as she fell. She was sitting on a pile of stone birds, and a single tear fell from her eye and splashed onto the frozen beak.

"Peter," Susan encouraged, squeezing his hand, and they suddenly heard the growling and barking from the tunnel. Peter let out a yell of anger, grabbing one of the barrels and slammed it against the tunnel's entrance. He stood breathing hard.

"What happened here?" Peter breathed, afterwards, and there was a sudden response:

"This is what happens to those who cross the white witch."

Everyone gave an alarmed cry, and Mr. Beaver lunged for the intruder.

"Don't you move, you traitor, or I'll chew you to splinteres!"

When the Pevensie's looked up, they saw a fox standing on top of the tunnel, it's bushy tail swishing back and forth. It merely hopped down, and paced back and forth. "Relax," he spoke. "I'm one of the good guys!"

Mr. Beaver gave a growl, just as Peter sneezed, managing to muffle it partially into his coat sleeve. "_HehMmmmph!_" Susan linked her arm through his, and watched as the fox didn't move.

"Well, you look an awful lot like one of the bad," Mr. Beaver growled, and the fox sighed.

"An unfortunate family resemblance," he admitted. "but we can discuss breeding later. In the meantime, we have to move."

They heard furious scratching against the barrel, and the fox ordered the group up into one of the nearest trees. Peter hadn't climbed a tree trunk in ages, but the skill came back to him with surprising ease. He lifted his sisters in after him, and the three of them snuggled together on one of the highest branches.

The barrel suddenly burst forth, and a pack of grey and black wolves appeared, their teeth bared and drooling hungrily. The fox stood in the center of the pack, watching as they circled him, sniffing the snowy ground.

"Good evening, gents!" the fox greeted, trying to sound cheerful. "Did we loose something?"

"Don't patronize me," the one wolf said, and Peter guessed these must be the secret police. He remembered seeing a paw print on the letter hanging from Mr. Tumnus' wall, and shuddered violently. Susan wrapped an arm about his shoulders, and Lucy cuddled up to his chest. "I know where your loyalties lie. We're looking for some humans."

"Humans in Narnia!" the fox exclaimed. "What valuable information!"

Before anyone could blink, the head of the secret police, Maugrim, snatched him around the middle with his sharp, gleaming teeth. Lucy started to cry out in alarm, but Peter clasped a hand over her mouth. She stared at him, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Your reward is your life," Maugrim growled. "it's not much. But still. Where are the fugitives?"

There was a long silence, and much to Peter's frustration, his nose chose this time to start itching. He gave it a quick rub with his wrist, though that only made matters worse. Susan listened as his breath quickened, and she and Lucy stared at each other, horrified. She quickly pulled Peter's face into the folds of her coat, trying to muffle the sound.

"Peter, no!" Lucy mouthed, and the beavers were watching him.

"_Heh…Kshhhh! HuhKshhhh!_" Peter felt his eyes water, and was grateful when the fox let out a few barks to echoe his sneezes, trying to disguise the noise.

Maugrim bit harder on the fox's flesh, and the poor animal let out a yelp of pain. "North," he croaked, when he managed to find his breath again. "They went north."

The wolf continued to hold the fox in his jaws, as though deciding whether the stranger was telling the truth. At last, Maugrim gave a grunt and tossed the fox aside, and bared his teeth again. "Smell them out," he ordered his pack, who gave him grins of satisfaction, and they began to disperse. When they were far out of sight and could no longer be heard, Mr. Beaver whispered that it was safe to come out of the tree.

"You had to sneeze," Susan sighed, and Peter looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It wouldn't have made any difference," the fox gasped, and they could see blood splattered on the snow where he'd been injured.

"It's not that bad of a bite, dear," Mrs. Beaver said, peering closely at the fox's side. "I'll be able to mend it in a jiffy."

"We'll set up a camp fire and make a bit of dinner," she added, and everyone smirked.

"Won't they see the fire?" Peter croaked, still feeling rather sneezy and miserable.

"They're far enough away," Mr. Beaver said. "but we'll move to a clearing deeper in the woods where they'll be sure not to find us."

"_Keshsshshh!_" Peter sneezed again, and everyone stared at him.

"Bless you," Susan and Lucy told him, and the animals merely shook their heads.

"Let me carry you," Susan offered as the fox attempted to get to his feet, but they slipped out from under him. "if you wouldn't mind." The fox didn't, and thanked her when she carefully did so.

Lucy let out a yawn, and Peter smiled softly at her. "and I suppose I'll carry you, eh?" he asked, and she blinked, shaking her head.

"No," she told him, as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against his hip. Susan lifted the injured fox carefully into her own arms, and the children trecked after the beavers to find a safe camping ground.

When they found a suitable spot, Susan sat with the injured fox, while Peter helped Lucy get comfortable.

"Remember when we would sleep under the stars at the summer cottage?" she asked as he tucked the fur jacket tightly around her small body, and then went to help Mr. Beaver find wood for the fire. They collected bundles of it, and soon had a comfortable blaze burning. Mrs. Beaver immediately set to work on the fox's injury, using a needle and thread to stitch the broken flesh.

"I wish I could say their bark was worse than their bite," the fox admitted, and let out a loud, "OW!" for the third time after Mrs. Beaver continued stitching him. Peter cuddled Lucy, who was very sleepy in deed, though she nibbled on a piece of bread.

"Oh, honestly…you're worse than Beaver on bath day!" Mrs. Beaver scolded as she tried to hold the fox still.

"Ouch!"

"Are you going to be all right?" Susan asked, and he gave a small grunt of annoyance.

"Either way, this is all the cure I have time for," the fox replied, struggling to his feet. "I've been sent by Aslan himself to gather more troops for the battle."

There was dead silence, and Mr. Beaver suddenly breathed, "you've seen Aslan!"

"What's he like?" Mrs. Beaver added, and the children waited anxiously for the fox's response.

"He's like…" the fox paused. "everything we've dreamed he would be, and more."

Susan and Peter glanced at each other, and she said, "Excuse me, but…we weren't planning on fighting any witch."

"But surely, your highness, King Peter…"

Peter looked at the fox, his eyes still a bit sad. "We just want our brother back," he said softly, and Lucy let out a low sob.

"Oh Peter," she whispered, and he kissed the top of her head. "we're going to rescue him," he whispered into her ear, and the fox sighed.

"The only way you'll be able to rescue your brother is by going to Aslan," the fox told Peter. "you have to understand that."

"Get plenty of rest, dears," Mrs. Beaver encouraged, and Lucy snuggled down on Peter's lap, nestling her cheek against his fur coat. Peter held her close, and began to sing an old, family lullabye:

"_Come Josephine in her flying machine_

_going up she goes_

_up she goes…"_

Susan's ears pricked as she heard her brother's voice, and she felt tears immediately spring to her eyes. She hadn't heard Peter sing in years.

"_Up, up…a little bit higher,_

_O' My! The moon is on fire…"_

Susan crept beside her oldest brother, and leaned against him as well. The bavs were watching with small smiles on their faces as the three siblings eventually lay down on the ground, exhausted enough at last, to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10: The Great Thaw Approaches

Chapter 10

_The Great Thaw approaches_

The night seemed to drag on forever. Peter couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried. He kept his sisters close to him, allowing each to lay her head on his lap as a pillow. Lucy would whimper every now and again, relaxing when Peter would smoothe her hair and kiss her cheek. The beavers slept a few feet away from the Pevensie children, curled up tightly side by side to keep warm when the fire went out.

The vision of the stone badger was still embedded in his Peter's mind, along with the deep sorrow on Mr. Beaver's face at the discovery of his friend's fate.

"_What are you drawing?" Peter asked, reaching over to snatch the portfolio, and Ethan held it out of his reach. _

_"Oh no you don't," he laughed. _

_"You're drawing me, aren't you?" Peter asked. _

_"No," Ethan retorted. _

_"Come on, then, let me see," Peter begged, making a lunge for it again, and grabbed it by the edge. _

_"Peter, you dolt!" Ethan cried as the train began moving, and his friend gave him a mischevious smile. "Oh, all right, I suppose you can have a look. It's nothing well…important."_

_Peter flipped open the top of the portfolio, and peered down. He studied the drawings closely for a moment, and Ethan stared, waiting anxiously for his opinion. _

_"What are these?" he asked, and Ethan bit his lip. _

_"You'll think I'm mad, Peter," he said quietly, and Peter snorted._

_"Too late," he teased, and Ethan shook his head. _

_"No, really. I…well…they're supposed to be fairies."_

_Peter stared at him. "Huh?"_

_"You know, fairies. The little people with wings. Like Tinker Bell in Mr. Barrie's book 'Peter Pan'."_

Peter felt a tear fall down his cheek as he remembered one of the last conversations he'd had with his best friend, Ethan. When he'd first heard the news of Ethan's death, it had come to him like a blow in the stomach with a hammer. He'd lived like a ghost for at least a week, refusing to eat or drink at all, feeling very depressed. Susan sat with him the entire time, and it wasn't until Ethan's mother drilled a bit of sense into Peter, that he slowly came into his right mind again.

However, now that he was in Narnia, he couldn't help but remember that particular conversation on the train back from school. Hadn't Ethan mentioned being in a place where animals talked, and there were in deed such things as fairies?

"But he said he was dreaming when he told me," Peter muttered, his eyes fixed on Mr. and Mrs. Beaver; Mr. Beaver was snoring loudly, and every so often, his great tail would slap the dirt ground as if he were fighting a invisible enemy. More tears fell down his cheeks as he continued to gaze at the sleeping beavers, and he forgot about his sister's lying against him.

Susan gave a small grunt when she felt something wet hit her cheek, and her eyes blinked open wearily. She could hear someone crying softly, though she was still half asleep. When she managed to clear her head a little of the foggyness, she realized Peter was the one crying, not Lucy.

"Oh," she whispered, sitting up, and cringed at her sore muscles…sleeping on solid ground was not at all comfortable. "What's wrong?" she croaked, and Peter looked at her, swallowing hard.

"N-nothing," he replied. "Go on back to sleep, Su…it's still early."

"You're thinking about Ethan again, aren't you?" she asked.

"He's been gone two years," Peter said, "and it still feels like he died yesterday."

She bit her lip, and nodded. "It scared me to see you so depressed when we first told you," she admitted. "Mum and Dad didn't want me to say anything at first, since you'd just come out of a coma…and didn't want you going into shock or something, and relapse. But when you asked where he was, I couldn't…"

Peter hugged her, trying not to bump Lucy, who was still sleeping soundly. "I'm starting to fear that I'm forgetting him," he whispered. "Susan, I can't remember exactly what he looks like anymore. I can sort of…remember his voice, but…it's just a voice." He started to cry again, feeling like a complete idiot…here he was, supposed to be the strong one and caring for his sisters, and he was having a nervous break down.

"You won't forget him," Susan promised, offering Peter a handkerchief, which he took gratefully. "Honest, you won't. I know when you saw the badger tonight, it really upset you. But Ethan knows you'll never forget him…he was your best friend."

Peter nodded, and blew his nose. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I feel like an idiot." He turned away, and she smiled gently.

"What, you think we girls are the only ones who have the right to cry sometimes?" she hugged him tightly again. "You're far from an idiot, Peter. I'm proud of you…you've been so brave through all of this."

Peter closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Su…" he croaked. "why did Ethan die and I didn't? I almost died…why didn't I?" he exclaimed, startling Lucy awake.

"Is she…did she find us? Is…"

Susan touched Lucy's shoulder, and shook her head. "No, Lu, the witch hasn't caught us. Go back to sleep."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Peter, why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "No, Lu," he croaked. "I'll be all right."

Lucy did not look convinced, but she knew better than to argue. It was still very dark; she had no idea how long they'd been asleep, or how long until the sunrise came. The beavers were still asleep, though, thankfully…Peter wasn't sure if he could bear having them awake and trying to console him. Mr. Beaver had just lost a good friend of his own.

"Are you all right?" Susan asked, after he'd calmed down.

"I don't know," he admitted, and she bit her lip.

"Just try to get some sleep," she said, watching as he attempted to lay down again, cuddling Lucy close to his side.

"I do hope Edmund is all right," Lucy said quietly. An owl hooted in the distance as if in hopeful agreement, and when Lucy looked up at one of the great pine trees, she saw the owl staring down at her with its bright yellow eyes. She smiled and gave a small wave to the creature, before turning and cuddling close to Peter again.

Meanwhile, Edmund was very miserable in deed, as Mr. Beaver had expected. He'd gone to the Queen's palace, expecting her to be pleased to see him. Instead, she was furious that he hadn't brought his sibling along, threatening to turn him to stone for his stupidity.

_"Please your majesty, I brought them halfway," _ he'd said. _"They're at the dam…with the beavers. My brother's sick, so they weren't going to leave anytime soon, I don't think."_

The Queen did spare him, but she sent her pack of secret police wolves out to the dam to search for the other three, and bring them to the castle. "Kill anything in your path," Jadis told Maugrim, who had given her a satisfied, hungry smile.

After the wolves took off at full speed, Edmund hopefully asked for the Turkish Delight she'd promised upon his arrival at her home. The Queen ordered her dwarvin slave to take him for food, but he now found himself locked in a cell underground. Hours upon hours had gone by since he was first placed here, and he was practically numb with cold.

He sat against a wall of solid ice, staring miserably at a plate of dried, blackened bread on the floor beside him. A tin mug sat beside that, filled with plain water.

Edmund's stomach rumbled with hunger; he didn't eat at the Beaver's, so the last meal he'd taken in was at the Professor's. Sighing, he reached for the piece of bread, and attempted to take a small bite. He nearly gagged, and spat out what he'd eaten; it tasted disgustingly like charcoal. He anxiously reached for his tin mug, and raised it to his lips. What he found instead of water, was yet another solid block of ice…the water had frozen solid! He groaned, tossing the mug aside, and hugged his knees to his chest.

He wondered if the secret police had found Peter and the girls yet…or, were they perhaps dead? He sniffed and looked up at the ceiling…more ice.

"If you're not going to eat that…"

It took a lot of willpower not to yell out loud when a small voice spoke from the cell beside him. Edmund gulped, turning his head slowly, and found a figure curled up on its side against the far wall. It's legs, which, when Edmund got a better look, were those of a goat's, not a man's. In fact…Edmund waited with baited breath as the creature lifted its head wearily, and found it to be a faun!

Edmund wet his lips, which were dry and cracked, and reached down for the piece of bread he'd bitten into. The faun looked worse off than he; it was bruised and scratched, which probably meant the witch had beaten him before tossing him into his cell. "Mr…Tumnus?" Edmund asked, as he reached through the bars to toss the piece of bread to his prison mate.

The faun looked rather surprised that Edmund knew his name, but was grateful when he was able to reach and nibble on the bread. "Or what's left of him," he said softly. When he peered more closey at Edmund, he raised an eyebrow. "You're…you're Lucy Pevensie's brother," he said, and Edmund turned his head, afraid the faun would see his expression of guilt. "You have the same nose."

Edmund buried his chin against his knees, feeling his throat choke up. As he sat here, in the cold and gloom, he realized just how much he missed his siblings. He hadn't been the least bit sorry when he'd first told the Queen where they were; they hadn't paid any attention to him at all while visiting the Beavers. In fact, Mr. Beaver acted as though he were some type of criminal.

Though now, he was starting to regret his actions; he'd told the witch Peter was sick, and no doubt she would use that information to her advantage. His oldest brother probably had no chance against anything the witch did to him.

"Is your sister all right?" Mr. Tumnus asked, after a few moments of awkward silence, and Edmund looked at him.

"What?" he asked, his breath coming out in white puffs.

"Is Lucy safe? And…your brother…is he well Did the medicine help?"

Edmund lowered his head, remembering Mr. Tumnus had given Lucy the applesauce. "He is feeling better," he admitted quietly, "but he's still pretty sick…at least, last time I saw him. I don't know how he is now." He saw Mr. Tumnus' eyes lower sadly, and then both of them jumped when the main door to the cell flew open violently. The witch came in followed by her dwarf companion, and she towered over Edmund with a sneer on her face.

"My police," she said, her voice as cold as the ice in her castle, "tore that dam apart, and your siblings were no where to be found."

Edmund's heart raced madly; he was going to be turned to stone, he just knew it.

"I…" he began, though he was not quite sure what to say.

"You told me your brother was too sick to travel, did you not?" she asked, and Mr. Tumnus lowered his head.

"He is sick," Edmund told her, and Mr. Tumnus raised his head in alarm. "I…but he must have been feeling a bit better, so they probably left. I'm sure not long ago, though, because…"

"You are of no further use to me," she growled. "you are a nasty little liar, and a pure idiot at that. I do not know why I bothered keeping you alive this long." She raised her wand, and Edmund gave an anxious shout,

"Wait! They…said something about Aslan!" as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt as though he were going to be sick himself. The witch's expression changed completely…from fury to horror.

"Aslan?" she breathed. "where?"

"I don't remember," Edmund admitted, trying to think of the conversation they'd had at the beaver's dinner table.

"Please," Mr. Tumnus begged, his voice fearful, "he is not familiar with Narnia…he's not been here long. He wouldn't know about…" but he was silenced with a blow by the dwarf's long staff. Edmund cringed as the faun doubled over in pain, choking on a sob.

"I left before they said anything," Edmund admitted, and the witch scowled deeply. She was still not thoroughly convince that this boy was worth keeping alive, but he did know of Aslan.

"I suppose you are not a complete loss," she said, her voice a bit calmer. "they will no doubt be heading in the direction of the great frozen river, so we will make for it immediately. Prepare my sledge," she ordered the dwarf. "but first…release the faun."

Edmund, after he himself was unshackled and dragged out of the cell, watched as Mr. Tumnus was pulled out as well and unshackled. A cut on the faun's forehead was bleeding freely, where the dwarf had recently whacked him. He looked up at the white witch, breathing quickly from exhaustion and fear.

"Do you know why you're here, faun?" the witch asked, and Mr. Tumnus glanced at Edmund, who looked at his feet.

There was an uncomfortable silence once again, and Mr. Tumnus answered: "I am here," he began, "because I believe in a free Narnia." His teeth chattered as he spoke.

The witch scoffed loudly, and pointed her wand at Edmund, who covered his head with his hands, expecting to be doomed. "You're here," she replied, "because he…turned you in! For sweeties."

Edmund couldn't bear to look at the expression on Mr. Tumnus' face; the faun was staring at him in utter disbelief. How could someone related to the precious Lucy Pevensie be so terrible?

"Take him upstairs," the witch ordered, and the dwarf drug Mr. Tumnus away. "and as for you…" she pointed at Edmund. "you will come with me. I do believe you would like to witness your brother's death for yourself."

Edmund gulped as she drug him by the scruff of the neck away into the night.

The next morning dawned bright and again, icy cold. Peter awoke with a pounding headache, and was a bit feverish when he first sat up. "You're flushed," Susan told him, and felt his cheeks with the palms of her hand. "Will this ever end?" she added, as she took a bit of snow and dabbed it against her brother's forehead.

The beavers awoke shortly after the children, and they resolved to sit for a time until Peter gathered his strength.

"We can't sit for very long," Mr. Beaver said impatiently. "we've no time."

"He's right, Su," Peter croaked, shivering with chills. "fever or not, we have to go."

She hesitated, and at last, agreed to let him stand. "The poor dear," Mrs. Beaver said sadly, as he coughed and leaned on his sisters for support. "I wish there was something we could do."

"Have a bit of cider," Lucy encouraged, handing him the canteen from her pack.

"Lu…" Peter begged, but she pushed it into his hand.

"It helps, doesn't it?" she asked, and Peter had to admit that his strength returned a little everytime he drank the cider. He took a couple of small sips, trying to spare as much as he could for his little sister. Surely she would get thirsty with all the walking they were going to be doing.

"Thank you," he said after he returned the canteen, and she gave him a hug around the waist.

"Let's go," Mr. Beaver announced, waving his paw to encourage them.

"Peter can't run," Susan said firmly, and Peter touched her shoulder.

"Su, stop trying to sound like mother all the time."

She sighed heavily, allowing him to hurry ahead.

"Come on, Lucy," Susan encouraged, taking her younger sister's hand and urging her forward.

They'd been walking for a little over an hour, when Mr. Beaver gave a cry of alarm. "What is it?" Lucy gasped, clutching Peter's hand, and then they heard it…the sound of hoofbeats and bells in the distance.

"It's her!" Mr. Beaver exclaimed. "Make for that cave there…" he pointed to a small cave about ten feet away. "Dive!" he added, when they reached the top of it. Peter pulled Lucy and Susan down into the narrow, cramped space, and the beavers scurried in beside them. The sound of the sledge came nearer and nearer, until they were certain it was right beside them.

Peter closed his eyes when he saw a shadow pass on the snow, and he hugged Lucy tight—she lay across his lap, her back leaning against the cave wall. No one said a single word, until there was dead silence.

"Is she…" Lucy swallowed. "d'you think…"

Mr. Beaver sniffed the air, peeping towards the entrance of the cave. "Let me go check," Peter offered, starting to get up, but Mr. Beaver whirled around.

"No," he said sharply. "You're no good to Narnia dead."

Mrs. Beaver put a paw on her husband's arm. "Neither are you," she said softly, and he gave her a smile.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he replied thoughtfully, and stuck his head through the cave opening, before darting out into the snow. Lucy buried her face in Peter's chest, waiting for the blow, but a moment later they heard a shout of laughter and Mr. Beaver's, "It's all right!" he peered down from above, a wide grin on his face. "I hope you all've been good, 'cause there's someone here to see you!"

Peter and Susan stared at each other, and Peter gave a soft grunt as Lucy got up, and followed Mrs. Beaver outside. Susan touched Peter's shoulder, and smiled. "Are you all right?" she asked, noticing how white his face looked.

"Y-yes," Peter whispered, and she took his arm, putting it around her shoulders. "Lean on me," she said, and he did as he struggled to his feet.

The two of them made their way outside, and their eyes widened and mouths dropped. Standing before them was in deed a sledge, but it's driver was far from the white witch. It was a tall man with a long, burgeondy coat, and a grey beard. He was laughing cheerfully at the sight of them, and Susan swore she was going crazy.

"Merry Christmas, sir," Lucy said, stepping forward.

Father Christmas beamed as he came towards them. "It certainly is, Lucy, since you have arrived." He stepped aside, and she gasped…there was an enormous red sack in the back seat of the sledge.

"Presents!" she cried with delight, and Father Christmas gave another jolly laugh, just as Peter sneezed.

"_Keshhhuh!_" everyone turned to him in surprise, and he looked up, blushing furiously.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm still not feeling very well, sir," he admitted, and Father Christmas nodded in understanding.

"Yes, I've been told."

"You have?" Susan asked. "You know our brother's sick?"

"Of course he does," Lucy whispered. "Don't you remember the old song… "_he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake_?"

Father Christmas laughed. "She's right," he agreed with a nod. "I do know many things, Susan. But, without delay, I have these gifts I must give to you." He reached into his bag, and called Lucy to come to him first. Peter was preparing to sneeze again at that moment, but Susan stepped on his foot just in time to distract him.

"Thanks," he told her, and she nodded with a smile.

"But sir," Susan spoke suddenly, "I thought…was there no Christmas in Narnia?"

Lucy glanced over her shoulder as Father Christmas took out two objects from the sack: one phial filled with a bright, red liquid and a small dagger inside of a sheath.

"There wasn't," he replied. "but the hope that your majesties have brought is finally starting to weaken the witch's power. Yes, she has kept me out a very long time," he added, and then turned to Lucy again. "First, Lucy…the juice from the fire flower. One drop will be enough to cure any injury."

Lucy gasped, holding the small phial in her hand, and she immediately looked at Peter.

"I understand what you wish to do," Father Christmas said kindly, "but your brother's injury goes deeper than illness. Aslan will be the one to cure him fully, if he can."

Peter gulped, and Susan squeezed his hand.

"If…if he can?" Peter asked softly, and Father Christmas smiled. "you mean there's a chance I won't…"

"We shall see," he said, and then turned his attention back to Lucy. "and though I hope you never have to use it…" he handed her the dagger, which she stared at with awe. It was incrested with tiny ruby jewels at the hilt, and in a bright red leather case.

"But sir," Lucy replied after a moment, "I…I think I can be brave enough."

Father Christmas chuckled. "I'm sure you could. But battles are ugly affairs." He turned to Susan, who was looking at her feet, and called her forward next. "Susan," he said, handing her a bow and a quiver stuffed to the rim with arrows. "Trust in this bow. It does not easily miss."

She blinked. "Whatever happened to 'battles are ugly affairs'?" she asked quietly, and he shook his head, the smile never leaving his face.

"As you have no difficulty in making yourself heard…" he handed her an ivory horn, "when you put this to your lips ad blow it, wherever you are, help will come."

She swallowed hard, staring at her 'gifts', and wasn't quite sure what to say.

"I…" she swallowed again. "thank you."

He nodded, and then it was Peter's turn. "Yes, you will be strong enough to use this," he began, pulling a large sword from the velvet sack, along with a silver shield. He handed both weapons over to Peter, who still looked rather unconvinced…the sword felt so heavy.

"Bare these well. They are tools, not toys," he continued, before climbing back into the sledge. "But I must be off. Winter is almost over, and things do pile up when you've been gone for a hundred years. Long live Aslan…and Merry Christmas!" he gave a tug on the reindeer's reins, and the sledge moved away into the sunrise.

"Merry Christmas! Thank you!" Peter, Susan, Lucy, and the Beavers called after Father Christmas, waving and whistling happily.

When silence overcame the forest once more; well, silence, with the exception of the occasional bird chirp or wind rustle, Peter turned to Susan. She had slung her bow and quiver over her back, and was watching as Lucy giggled suddenly.

"I told you he was real," she said, and both of her older siblings smirked.

"Did you hear what he said," Peter began, after sheathing his sword again, "winter is almost over?"

Susan nodded. "Yes…why?"

"Because," he looked at the river, which was coming up on the horizon. "you know what that means…no more ice!" The girls gasped, and turned their immediate attention to the river.


	11. Chapter 11: Special Meetings

Chapter 11

_Special Meetings _

Peter, Susan, Lucy and the Beavers stood at the bank of the frozen river, watching as enormous chunks of ice drifted away from the large cliff beside them. The noise of the rushing, freezing water was deafening, and Peter had to cup his hands over his ears to hear anything anyone said to him.

"If we could get a big enough piece of ice, we could float across on it," he suggested, and Susan looked at him as though he'd gone completely crazy.

"He has a point," Mr. Beaver replied. "we have no choice but to get across. It's the only way to Aslan's How."

"And I wouldn't mind swimming," Mrs. Beaver joined in, "but I'm not sure about humans. Can you all swim?"

"That's out of the question!" Susan snapped. "Lucy cant swim at all, and Peter…" she paused at the determined look on his face. "Peter, please say you won't…"

Peter swallowed, attempting to step out onto one of the enormous chunks of ice that had broken off. It nearly sunk into the frigid river, and he leapt back with surprise, clinging to Lucy who shrieked with fear.

Mr. Beaver moved forward, peering closely at the river, and then his whiskers twitched. "Perhaps I'd better test it," he suggested, and Peter, who was still breathing rather hard, nodded quickly.

"P'raps you should," he squeaked, watching as the animal raised it's great tail, and began to slap down around the edge of the ice.

"You've been sneaking second helpings haven't you?" Mrs. Beaver asked, as the force of Mr. Beaver's tail cracked the surface.

"You never know which meal is going to be your last," Mr. Beaver retorted. "Especially with your cooking!" He started to tell Peter that it was safe to climb aboard, when Susan suddenly cried out in alarm, pointing upwards. Lucy followed her sister's direction, and to her horror, saw several wolves dashing along the top of the cliff, slowly making their way down towards the bank of the river. They were growling and barking, and bearing their great, sharp teeth.

"Peter!" Lucy cried as Mr. Beaver explained to them that it was the White Witch's secret police. Peter watched as the head of the pack leapt towards him, snarling, it's white and grey fur raised high on its back. He reached for the hilt of his great sword and withdrew it from the leather sheath, amazed at just how easily he could hold it. It had felt so heavy when Father Christmas first presented it to him.

When Mrs. Beaver cried out, the girls realized that another of the wolves had seized Mr. Beaver around the middle, to keep him from giving Peter any aid.

"Put that down, boy," Maugrim growled in a low, gruff voice. "someone could get hurt."

"Run him through! Don't worry about me!" Mr. Beaver cried, but Peter continued to hold the sword steady, not making any movements.

"Leave now while you can," Maugrim continued; he was practically foaming at the mouth with hunger; "and your brother leaves with you."

Susan grasped Peter's arm, her heart hammering in her chest. "Stop, Peter! Maybe we should listen to him!" she cried.

The wolf chuckled. "Smart girl," he replied, and she glared.

Peter stood frozen to the spot, at a bit of a loss of what to do. His eyes went from Mr. Beaver who still lay in the other wolf's clutches; to Maugrim, who was staring at him through daring, yellow eyes, and Susan, who looked ready to cry if he so much as raised the sword.

"Don't listen to him!" Mr. Beaver hissed. "Kill him! Kill him now!"

"Come on," Maugrim snarled. "This isn't your war. All my Queen wants is for you to take your family and go."

"Look at me," Susan hissed, and Peter dared not turn his head. However, he did peek at Susan out of the corner of his eye. "Just because some man in a red coat hands you a sword…it doesn't make you a hero! Just drop it!"

"Peter!" Mr. Beaver yelled. "Narnia needs you! Gut him while you still have the chance!"

Peter closed his eyes, feeling his fingers loosen on the hilt of the sword, but he couldn't drop it. He wanted to be sick; he wanted to faint, but he just stood standing there, holding the weapon.

"What is it gonna be, son of Adam?" Maugrim continued, leaning back on his haunches. "I won't wait forever. And neither will the river!"

The rushing of the water grew louder and louder, and Lucy suddenly had instinct to glance upwards. "PETER!" she shrieked, and when he finally lifted his head, he saw spurts of water bursting through the cracks in the cliff. Maugrim wasn't paying attention, and was a bit startled when Peter raised his sword after a moment.

"Hold onto me!" he ordered, and Susan and Lucy each grabbed a chunk of his coat, holding their breaths. He raised the sword even higher, and with a swift movement, stuck the tip into the chunk of ice. They began to move at a rapid speed, though not fast enough. The cliff began to crumble at that very moment, enormous pieces of ice and rock tumbling into the river below. The force of so much debris falling at once caused an enormous wave to form, and the Pevensies barely had time to shout when they were engulfed by gallons upon gallons of ice cold water.

As he they went under, Peter felt all his breath being taken away; and as though his body were being stabbed with thousands of knives. He couldn't see, nor hear anything at all, except the bubbling of the water all around him.

He was still clutching the hilt of his sword, which seemed in a sense, almost frozen to his fingers. _So this is what dying is like? _He thought, as blackness clouded his vision. _I suppose I'll see you soon, Ethan…_

But he suddenly felt Susan grab him from around the waist, and felt a burst of sweet air finally fill his lungs again.They appeared at the water's surface, still clinging desparately to the chunk of ice and to each other. The Beavers were nestled tightly against the children, though occasionally, one would slip off and paddle quickly through the rapids.

Lucy yelped as she started to slip off the other side of the ice, but Peter managed to hoist her back up again. He was relieved when they caught sight of land about ten feet away, and with a gulp he ordered the Beavers to paddle with their tails for it.

He was so drained by the time the chunk of ice bumped against the bank of the river, that he just lay there for a moment, heaving. "Peter," Susan sobbed…she'd climbed up onto the bank already, sopping wet and shivering. Her teeth chattered as she knelt down and attempted to pull her brother onto the bank, but he only succeeded in sliding back into the water again.

"Peter!" she cried suddenly. "Where's Lucy!"

Peter suddenly raised his eyes, which were stinging, and he realized he was no longer clutching his youngest sister. The Beavers scurried about calling for the small girl, and, after Peter forced himself ashore, he frantically peared into the waves. He was still holding onto Lucy's coat, which was almost as heavy as she had been due to it being filled with water.

"LUCY!" Susan screamed, and Peter attempted to yell himself, but he collapsed to his knees, the energy nearly gone from him. "LUCY!" Susan cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled again, nearly hysterical with worry.

After a moment or two of silence passed, the four of them heard a small voice ask, "Has anybody seen my coat?"

Peter lifted his head weakly, and saw Lucy coming towards them. She wrapped her cardigan around herself, sniffling and shivering as she slipped a little in the slush. Susan eased Peter to his feet, and the Beavers watched with relief as he pulled Lucy into a tight hug, wrapping her with the enormous fur coat.

"Not to worry, dear," Mr. Beaver chuckled. "your brother has you well looked after."

Lucy clung to Peter, staring at the monstrous waters that nearly swallowed her up. "You can't swim for nuts?" he asked, reminding her of her one great fault in England, and she gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging.

"I s'ppose I can here in Narnia," she replied softly, and he hugged her again.

"Well," Mrs. Beaver finally spoke up, "I don't think you'll be needing those coats anymore. Look!"

Everyone raised their heads, and Lucy gasped. Ahead of them stood a great cherry blossom tree, which, initially covered with ice, now bloomed with great, pink flowers. The snow around them was starting to melt, revealing lush, green grass. Mrs. Beaver was right; it was growing rather warm out…almost as it had felt when they were back in England.

The group trudged onward towards the forest, smiling as flowers and grass seemed to pop up instantly when they passed banks of snow. They found a tree trunk to lay their wet coats on after it grew too warm to wear them, and they decided to sit and rest a while.

"Isnt it beautiful?" Susan breathed, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the golden sunlight, and smiled when a rabbit peeped its little grey head from a hole beside her. "Oh, hello," she greeted, and it immediately ducked back in again. Lucy giggled, watching as butterflies danced among the tulips and daisies; and as bluejays and cardinals leapt from tree branch to tree branch.

"Peter…" Susan turned and saw her brother staring up at the sapphire sky. "Peter, are you all right?" she asked, and he turned to look at her.

"I feel as though I could run several miles at once," he said, and she beamed as he hopped to his feet. "Let's go," he ordered. "we're wasting time sitting here."

"You're feeling better again, aren't you?" Lucy asked, beaming, and he lifted her into his arms, kissing her on the cheek.

"He is most certainly the true King," Mrs. Beaver whispered to her husband, who winked, and they scurried after the humans towards Aslan's camp.

Edmund stood between the witch and the dwarf Ginarrbrick upon the bank of the great river. The weather had taken a most marvelous turn; at least, in Edmund's opinion. He had never been more thrilled to see grass or flowers in his life, and was quite sure he never wanted to see another winter again in a long time. His toes were still slightly numb from the endless hours of trudging through the snow and ice.

The witch, however, was furious as her eyes were fixed on the rainbow forming from the waterfall's mist. She clutched her wand, as though just waiting for some creature to appear so she could zap it to stone.

"It's so…warm out," Ginarrbrick gasped, unbuttoning his great coat. He was about to say something else, when he saw Jadis' warning look. "I'll go and…prepare the sleigh." He gave a nervous chuckle and dashed off. Edmund smirked a little, and then slowly glanced up at the witch. He heard a growl from behind and turned to see her secret police approaching.

Maugrim carried something large in its mouth, and Edmund realized that it was a fox. Jadis turned slowly as the wolf pack approached them, Maugrim dropped the fox at the witch's feet. Edmund raised his eyes as the animal hung its head, its dark eyes focused on him.

"We've found you a traitor," Maugrim growled, a noise which always made Edmund shiver.

Jadis lowered her wand and loosened her grip on the weapon slightly, her lips curling into a satisfied sneer. "Ah," she began coolly, "how nice of you to drop in. I understand you were so helpful to my wolves last night."

Edmund swallowed, recognizing the tone of sarcasm instantly. He knew the wolves had come back empty…well, jawed. He was tempted to ask the fox what became of his siblings, and if they were all right, but he dared speak a word.

"Forgive me, your majesty," the fox said quietly, and the witch gave a laugh.

"Oh, don't bother with flattery," she began, and the prisoner raised his eyes.

"Not to sound rude," he said slowly, "but I was not actually talking to you."

Edmund stepped back a pace, swallowing hard, and unclenched his fists; the fox meant him! He was starting to inquire what he was talking about, when Jadis raised her wand, pointing it at the fox. "Where is Aslan?" she asked, and dead silence followed her question. She let out a yell of fury and started to aim the wand at the fox, when Edmund cried,

"No, please, wait! They said something about the stone table!" he gulped. "and an army!"

Jadis turned to stare at him, her eyes raised, and Edmund caught sight of the fox shaking his head sorrowfully.

"Thank you, Edmund," she replied with a bow of her head, and he felt relief spread through his body. "I'm glad this poor creature got to see a bit of honesty…" Edmund stared as she suddenly turned towards it, her wand bared. "Before he died!" she finished, and a flash of light protruded from the end, turning the fox into stone.

"No!" Edmund cried, horrified, and Jadis dealt him a blow across the face. He fell to the ground, clutching his cheek with surprise, and watched as spots began to form in front of his eyes. Jadis grabbed him by the scruff of the neck again, hoisting him into the air. He gagged; she was practically choking him.

_Peter, Peter I'm sorry, _he thought, as he struggled against her grip. _Please forgive me, Peter…_

"Think about whose side you're on, Edmund," Jadis hissed, turning his face so he was staring directly at her. "Mine…" she turned him towards the stone fox, "or theirs."

He choked on a sob as he continued to stare at the poor fox, because… for the first time, he felt sorry for someone besides himself.

After Jadis dropped him to the ground again, he was immediately tied up tightly in rough coils and dumped back into the sleigh. "Gather the faithful," she began. "If it is a war Aslan wants…" her lips curled into that terrible sneer again, "then it is a war he shall get."

Emund felt tears spring to his eyes as he lifted his head; he gasped…he saw a familiar figure standing by one of the great bushes, a figure he'd not seen in over two years.

_We are coming for you, _a boy's voice spoke, as though inside of his head, and the figure came closer, as the sleigh began to move. _Do not worry, Edmund._

Through the gag, Edmund couldn't respond, but he was shocked. _You'll have to trust me, _the voice spoke again, sensing Edmund's fear.

Meanwhile, Peter, Susan, Lucy and the Beavers had just arrived at Aslan's great camp. It was a brilliant sight; groups of tents spread over acres of flat ground. Peter walked a little ahead of his sisters, trying to take everything in, though he walked slowly…a bit achy and exhausted from having been in the ice cold water for so long.

The tents surrounding them were red and gold; the same color as the symbol of the lion on his shield, and there were miniature smithies, and camp fires spread about.

Peter had never seen such an array of creatures in one gathering, either; Fauns of all sizes smiled at him through their steel hemlets, dwarves, dyrads, great birds with the bodies of a mountain lion.

"Why are they all staring at us?" Susan whispered everyone paused in their work to greet the royal precession.

Lucy giggled, "maybe it's because they think you look funny," she teased, and even Peter had to laugh at Susan's expression. They at last approached the largest and sturidest of the tents, wose flaps remained closed. A great Centaur stood before it, staring curiously at the newcomers.

Peter looked at his sisters, and eventually unsheathed his sword, raising it high. "We have come to see Aslan," he said in a loud voice, and a soft murmer rustled through the crowd. Susan and Lucy glanced over their shoulder, and saw suddenly that every body in the camp got onto one knee, bowing their heads low.

Peter swallowed nervously and watched as the main flap of the tent began to rise; he then saw a great furry paw step out from beneath it. Soon, the great lion appeared in his entirety, bearing his great golden eyes at them. Lucy gasped aloud in awe, and Susan took her hand.

"Welcome, Peter," Aslan spoke, his voice deep and firm, but gentle all the same. "son of Adam. Welcome, Susan and Lucy, daughters of Eve." He turned to the Beavers, who were gaping, and smiled at them. "Welcome to you, Beavers. You have my thanks. But…where is the fourth?"

Peter looked up, frowning slightly. "We had a little trouble along the way," Susan replied for him.

"Our brother was captured by the white witch," Peter added, and a loud gasp through the crowd followed his words.

"Captured!" several creatures exclaimed, and Aslan lowered his head gravely.

"Captured…how could this happen?"

Mr. Beaver cleared his throat, stepping forward timidly. "He…betrayed them, your Excellence."

The Centaur who'd greeted them at the tent narrowed his eyes, his dark hair flowing in the wind. "Then he has betrayed us all!" he shouted, and a murmer of agreement answered him.

"Peace, Oreius," Aslan told the Centaur calmly, "for I am sure there is an explination." He turned his eyes to Peter, who felt suddenly weak again.

"It's…it was my fault, really. I was too hard on him."

Susan touched his arm comfortingly. "We all were," she added softly, and Aslan nodded his head in understanding.

"Sir," Lucy began, "he's our brother…"

Peter felt faint, but kept himself standing upright.

"I know, dear," Aslan told her, eyeing Peter worriedly, "but that only makes the betrayal all the worse. This may be harder than you think." He stepped forward as Peter swayed, nearly falling (Susan cried out and covered her mouth with her hand), and encouraged the boy to take hold of his mane. "Come with me, son of Adam. We must talk in private."

Susan bit her lip, and watched as the great lion led Peter off into the distance.

"Please, sit," Aslan encouraged, once they were standing on a great hill, overlooking the entire camp. "You are tired."

"I am all right," Peter whispered, and Aslan gave a chuckle.

"Even the bravest of all Kings does not turn down a chance to rest a little," he said, and Peter sat upon one of the nearest rocks. "Peter…do you doubt the prophecy?" he asked, when he saw Peter's frown. "or dare I say, there is a matter that goes much deeper than that?"

"Aslan…" he looked up. "I do not doubt the prophecy, but I…I do not think you have the right person."

Aslan smiled. "Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley?" he asked, and Peter stared at him, surprised. "There is a deep magic, Peter, that rules all of Narnia. It defines right from wrong, and governs all of our destinies. Yours, and mine. And…Peter…"

Peter looked at him. "There is something else I wish to discuss with you. It will hurt, yes, but sometimes we need to feel pain before we can come to ourselves again."

"Aslan, please, I cant…" Peter began, and the Lion let out a low growl that caused him to stop at once.

"Two years ago, Peter, you lost someone very close to you, did you not?"

Peter stared. "Yes…" he squeaked, wondering how on earth Aslan knew about Ethan.

"I know of Ethan very well in deed, Peter," Aslan told the bewildered boy calmly. "But in order to come to terms with anything in Narnia, before anything must begin properly, you…"

There was suddenly the sound of a great horn in the distance, and Peter gasped. "It's Susan!" he cried in alarm, and Aslan watched as Peter took off after the noise, immediately unsheathing his sword.


	12. Chapter 12: Reconciliations

Chapter 12

_Reconciliations_

Peter ran faster than he'd ever run in his life when he heard Susan's frantic blasts. He prayed he would get there in time, to defeat whatever foe was attacking them. He eventually reached a small stream, where the two girls had been fooling around, and saw them up in a tree.

Maugrim and another member of his pack circled the trunk, every now and then leaping up and snapping their jaws violently. Susan and Lucy were screaming and kicking at the animals, trying to climb to higher branches.

"Get back!" Peter yelled, unsheathing his sword, as he approached the villains. He was panting, his hair sweat-soaked and plastered to his forehead. Susan gasped and glanced at Lucy who sat above her, and the girls watched in horror. "Peter, look out!" Susan cried as the two wolves crowded him on either side.

"We've been through this before," Maugrim snarled. "we both know you haven't got it in you."

Peter felt anger welling up from deep inside, and it almost scared him. He prepared to strike a blow at Maugrim, but Lucy's, "Peter, be careful!" caused him to whirl around and see the second wolf at his heels. Lucy covered her eyes, expecting her brother to be eaten.

There was a sudden roar and a pounce, and Lucy uncovered one eye to find Aslan amongst them, his paws pinning the other wolf to the grass. It yelped with surprise, and the Centaur, Oerius, wielded his sword at that moment.

"No," Aslan growled. "Stay your weapons. This is Peter's battle."

Peter swallowed, breathing hard as he continued to point his sword at Maugrim. The wolf gave a loud growl and lunged for Peter, who swung as hard as he could with the sword, but missed the animal's belly by half an inch. The wolf's claws dug into his right shoulder causing him to yell in pain as it tore down his back, and the girls cried out in terror.

"Is that all you got, boy?" Maugrim asked with another evil laugh. Peter fell to his knees and clutched his throbbing arm, his head bowed, gritting his teeth. He could hear his sister's crying softly from their pearch high in the tree, and felt his heart racing a million miles a minute. "High King in deed!" the wolf scoffed. "Knocked down by one blow. I dare you to take another shot at me."

Peter blew out his breath, releasing his grip on his shoulder, and seeing a handful of bright, red blood. The pain was almost unbearable; he felt the all too familiar blackness crowding his vision, but he couldn't pass out; not now.

Oerius looked at Aslan with a raised eyebrow, and bent down so he could whisper into the Lion's ear, "Aslan, you are going to kill the boy. He cannot accomplish this task."

Aslan let out a low growl as Maugrim continued to cackle nastily, throwing mocking insults at Peter the entire way. Lucy let out a small sob, and watched as Peter raised his head, his face ghasty white. He could see Oreius's expression of disblelief, and Aslan's teeth beared.

Something stirred inside Peter that caused him to reach for his sword suddenly, using his good arm, and he took such a powerful lunge at Maugrim that it took the head wolf by complete surprise. right The pain from his injury nearly tore him to pieces, but Peter managed to stick the tip of the sword into the gut of the head of witch's secret police. Maugrim let out a yelp and moan, falling smack on top of Peter's stomach, dead.

The last thing Peter saw before he fainted, was of Susan and Lucy both rushing to his side.

Oerius was still scowling as he stood next to Aslan, who had released the wolf he held with his paws. "Forgive me," he began, "but are you quite certain this is the boy who is to be the high King? If he could barely take on a single wolf?"

Aslan let out another low snarl, and Oerius gave a noise of understanding. "Follow him," he ordered, as the wolf took off, yelping the entire way in fear. "He will take you to Edmund. And…" he lowered his voice and said something that neither of the girls could understand; they were still trying to revive their brother, whose head merely lolled from side to side.

"Lucy, go and get a bit of water from the stream," Susan said, tapping Peter's cheeks. "Peter, wake up," she begged, choking on a sob as she watched the blood from her brother's wound seep onto her dark green dress.

Lucy returned quickly with a cup of water and a towel, which she explained would be for to wrap the wound.

"We should remove his shirt to see how bad the wound is," she said, and Susan nodded, brushing Peter's bangs away from his eyes. "Best to do it when he's still unconscious," she teased, and carefully began to remove his clothing. After pulling off the tunic and the green cotton shirt, they saw several, fairly deep gashes on Peter's shoulder, which were bleeding freely.

"Oh my God," Susan gasped, and Lucy stared at the blood.

"Lucy," Aslan said softly. "Remember your gift, sweetheart."

"My cordial!" she suddenly exclaimed, smacking a hand against her forehead. "I left it back at the camp!"

"Go and get it," Susan said. "Hurry!"

Lucy took off, and Susan eased Peter into a bit of a sitting position, dabbing at the wounds with the white sheet. She eventually managed to tie it up in a turniqet fashion, before bathing Peter's face with a fresh piece. He let out a soft moan after a moment or two, his eyes fluttering open.

"Peter?" Susan sobbed, kissing him on the forehead. "How are you feeling?"

He blinked dazedly, not quite sure what was going on. "Whajusthappend?" he muttered, and she laughed softly.

"You just killed Maugrim," she said, and Peter glanced over his shoulder, hissing in pain. "OW!" he cried.

"You have done well, Peter," Aslan complimented. "your sister will return soon, and your strength will be restored."

Peter gulped and looked at Susan, whose dress and hands were covered in his blood. "Are you…" he swallowed, his throat feeling like wax paper.

"I'm fine, Peter," she squeaked. "Just lay here and rest until Lucy comes back. She won't be long."

Peter hissed as a firey pain shot through his injured arm and back, and lay slowly back against Susan's lap. "You shouldn't have to see this," he croaked, and he attempted to reach for his shirt that lay only an inch or so from him. "Agh…" he gasped, and Susan touched his wrist.

"Don't worry about it, Peter. It's…I'm sure I'll see worse." The thought of the upcoming battle entered her mind.

Peter patted her hand with his good one, and gritted his teeth. "So he's…really gone? Maugrim?" he asked, his breath coming in small gasps; it hurt too badly to take a deep one. He started to drift off again just as Lucy came running back with the glass phial in her hand, and she fell to her knees beside the two of them.

"I'm here, Peter," she promised, and he peeked at her through one eye. "Oh, good…you're awake!"

"Yes, but he's really not that with it," Susan said, easing him up very carefully.

"Ow…" Peter choked, and he gritted his teeth. "Unnh…I can do it," he whispered as Lucy unscrewed the cap from the bottle. She frowned and looked at Susan, who nodded in agreement.

"Okay…" she handed it to him so he could hold it in his good arm, though he was shaking too badly to hold it steady.

"Ah!" he hissed, and Lucy touched his good shoulder, smiling.

"Peter, it's all right. Let me," she said, and he groaned.

"All right," he croaked, and Susan eased his head so he wouldn't choke.

Lucy smiled and tipped the phial downward, allowing a single drop of the bright red juice to enter Peter's mouth. It tasted like sweet honey with a tinge of strawberry, and he allowed it to slide down his throat. The girls waited anxiously as Lucy capped her cordial, and held their breaths. Aslan continued to sit and watch them, his great tail swishing back and forth gently.

Peter squeezed Susan's hand as he continued to lay waiting, and suddenly, a gentle, soothing coolness moving through his veins. He squirmed a little and struggled to sit up, clasping a hand to his forehead after a moment or two. Lucy sighed with relief and so did Susan, who embraced him tightly.

"Thank God you're all right," she said.

"Oh your dress," Lucy breathed, and Susan looked down.

"I'll just change of course," Susan laughed. "Peter, are you sure you're all right?" she asked, as he struggled to his feet, allowing his sisters to help him.

He touched the arm that had been injured, and was relieved to find it completely healed.

"Yes, I do feel better. Thanks, Lu," he croaked, and she choked on a sob, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Aslan, after a moment or two, stepped forward. "Peter," he said softly, once Lucy released him, "clean your sword."

Peter wet his lips and turned to where his weapon lay on the grass, the wolf's dead body still lying beside it. He gulped and went to remove the sword from the animal's stomach, and stuck it in the grass to wipe it off. The girls stepped back and watched as Alsan ordered Peter to get down on one knee, and then placed a great paw upon his shoulder.

"Arise," he finally said, "Sir Peter Wolfsbane. Knight of Narnia."

Susan and Lucy gasped and looked at one another, beaming as Peter sheathed his sword. "Thank you," he said softly, and Aslan nodded.

"It was well earned, Peter. I am proud of you."

"Excuse me, Peter," Susan whispered, squeezing his arm. "I'm going to change my dress, but I'll meet you back at the camp in a little while."

He nodded, and turned to Aslan. "They'll be safe, Peter. You've done what needed to be done. Take hold of my mane, then…we'll walk slowly, while you are still regaining your strength."

Peter, after taking his shield and putting it over his shoulder, took hold of the lion's fur and, with one glance back at his sisters, followed Aslan towards the direction of the camp.

"Peter," Aslan began, after a few moments of silence. "There is something I wish for you to see when we return to the camp. But…you need to rest, and I shall bring you into my tent after dinner."

"All right," Peter replied softly, and the great Lion walked slowly with him the rest of the way.

Peter was grateful to crawl onto his cot, and was brought a cup of hot soup from one of the dyrads. "Thank you," he told the creature after it ducked back out of the tent. He realized just how ravenous he felt, which was probably due to the miniature battle and injury he'd just endured. He was just finishing the soup when Susan and Lucy returned, and both peeked in to check on him.

"Su? Lu?" he whispered, and both girls pulled seats beside him.

"Can we get you anything else?" Susan asked as he gave a loud yawn and apologized afterwards.

"You've had a long day," Susan replied, as he continued drinking the soup.

"I know…I'm just so tired all of a sudden. Can't keep my eyes open."

"Well, finish the soup and lay down," Lucy encouraged.

"That's not neces…" Peter paused to yawn again, and the girls tried to hide their giggles. "What's so funny?" he asked, and they shook their heads.

"Nothing," Susan promised.

"I suppose a small nap wouldn't hurt, and Susan immediately fetched him an extra pillow, and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Before they knew it, Peter's eyes closed and he was snoring softly.

"Whew!" Lucy breathed as she and Susan tiptoed out of the tent. "Thank goodness…"

"Hopefully that will help," Susan replied, and they nodded to one another.

It wasn't until darkness fell that Peter eventually opened his eyes, and gave a great yawn. He blinked until his vision cleared, though found he still felt fairly groggy. "What…" he sat up, holding a hand to his forehead, and saw a flicker of firelight through his tent flaps. "I've missed dinner?" he asked himself as he pulled the blankets down and stood, peeping through the flaps.

"Good evening, sir," a dwarf told him politely, passing by.

Peter nodded and took in a spicy whiff of some type of meat. His stomach did a flip flop, and he clutched it, quite certain he was going to be ill.

"Your highness?"

A deep voice spoke, and Peter swallowed, lifting his head. A cheeta stood a few inches away. "Aslan wishes to have a meeting. Follow me."

Peter nodded, and walked alongside the cheeta trying to ignore the smell of the supper being cooked. He could see dyrads moving about from tent to tent, passing out plates and tin mugs to the soldiers, and was grateful he'd left his own tent when he did.

They arrived at Aslan's tent, where the lion sat out front waiting for them. "You may go. Thank you." He turned to Peter after the smaller animal walked off, leaving the two alone. "I trust you slept well?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder and turned back to Aslan. "With all do respect, I do not believe that was soup they served me today," he whispered, and the lion chuckled warmly.

"It was," Aslan insisted. "only you did need a bit of help to fall asleep. What you are about to witness tonight would not have gone over well after the ordeals you faced."

Peter bit his lip, not quite sure what was going on. "Peter, while I was speaking with you on the hill this afternoon, I came upon a conclusion that there is something deeper that is troubling you than the honest fear of the prophecy itself."

"I apologize for having interrupted you," Peter said softly, and Aslan shook his head.

"That is no matter," he promised. "but, I think what you will see when I invite you into my tent will at least begin to heal what is past."

Peter's heart was now pounding fast as Aslan gripped at the main flap of the tent with his teeth, and pulled it open. A slight purr encouraged Peter to enter the enormous tent, and soon, the flap closed behind him. "Close your eyes, Peter, and just think. There is someone you miss, someone whose loss has affected you deeply. You will know when the time is right to open them."

Peter did as he was told, and felt a familiar ache spreading through his heart, that same cold emptiness he fought against. He stood rooted to the spot for several moments, unitl he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. He didn't open his eyes yet, but reached up towards the hand, touching it softly, feeling almost afraid.

"Open your eyes now, Peter."

Peter felt his throat choking up with tears as he did so, and he found himself staring into the eyes of Ethan Hunt. For a moment, he was unable to speak…he opened his mouth, but no words came out. Only tears, which began to fall silently down his cheeks.

"Would sitting down be easier?" Ethan asked, pointing to a chair Aslan reserved for guests who entered his tent. "Peter, I'm not going to hurt you. Sit down."

Peter did as instructed, though his head spun. "How…" he croaked.

"I'm not alive, Peter. I am am imprint of my former self, but Aslan thought it would help if you saw me as I am in his country. I'm not able to stay very long," he continued, sitting cross-legged on the ground at Peter's feet. "But before I begin to tell you why Aslan brought me here, I want you to understand something. It wasn't your fault. Look at me," he added, when Peter lowered his head. "It was meant to happen when it did."

"You told me you saw…" Peter whispered.

"Yes, I did," Ethan replied kindly. "I did see this place before."

"I never got to say goodbye," Peter added.

"And you think that was again, your fault?" Ethan asked. "Peter, mother told me you were near death, too. You couldn't have possibly come. I understood. Why were you feeling guilty over something you had no control over?"

Peter lowered his head. "Ethan, when I found out you were dead, it hurt so much," he said softly. "I suppose I…needed someone or something to blame for it, so I blamed myself. If I hadn't opened the door…"

"Stop it," Ethan hissed. "Just…Peter, stop it. I…"

"No, you stop it," Peter suddenly snapped, standing up. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"What?" Ethan asked, and Peter stood by the side of the tent, breathing hard.

"This hurts!" Peter hissed. "Do you know how much it does? You're dead…I'm…" he took a deep breath. "Look," he began. "I've been dropped into a freezing river, nearly clawed to death by a talking wolf, and now…well, I know what's happening now. I was given medicated soup that is now causing me to hallucinate that my best friend is standing right in front of me…he's been dead for two years! You're dead! You're not supposed to come back!"

Ethan looked startlingly calm by Peter's reaction; clearly, he'd been expecting it.

"I can't believe you're still standing there," Peter hissed. "I have to go…I can't take this." He lifted the flap of the tent, sobbing quietly, and was nearly all the way out when Aslan stood in his path. "Please let me just go," he begged. "I can't do this…"

Aslan gave him a nudge back into the tent. "Pain is a good part of the healing process, Peter. You have to face this before you are able to move on."

Peter gulped as the flap was one again closed, and he turned around, finding Ethan standing in the middle. "Are we ready to begin again?" Ethan asked as Peter fell to the ground, burying his face in his hand. He got down on his knees as well, and put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter, you have to look at me."

"I can't," Peter gulped, and Ethan sighed.

"Yes you can. Aslan didn't choose you to be the high King of Narnia for nothing, Peter."

Peter lifted his head slowly. "I am not a hallucination first of all," Ethan promised. "Would a hallucination do this?" he took a couple pieces of fruit from a bowl on a table by the chair, and began to juggle them in different fashions. Peter stared and jumped when an apple was tossed to him. "You haven't had supper," Ethan continued. "Eat that."

"You taught me how to juggle when we were locked in the house that…that day," Peter breathed, and Ethan nodded.

"Yes. You see? You're not forgetting me." He watched as Peter took a small bite of the apple. "Now, why you're not able to interrupt me with food in your mouth…I'm going to tell you why I'm here. I am here, Peter, to encourage you."

"Encourage me?" Peter gasped.

"You are going to fight in this battle against the witch .There is no way to avoid it," he continued.

"I can't…"

"Stop that," Ethan hissed. "If you say the word can't one more time…I'm going to flip you upside down. I can do that, you know."

Peter smirked. "You always were annoying like that," he squeaked, and it was Ethan's turn to grin, and they heard Aslan laughing from outside the tent.

"Yes, well, anyway. Do you think your victory over Maugrim today was just pure luck?" he asked, and Peter started to say something else, but stopped himself. "No. You have strength hidden inside that you probably don't even realize you have. This might hurt again, Peter, but I think that is what kept you alive. I was never really as strong as you, I'll admit that."

Peter was silent, and then he suddenly spoke, "Edmund…" he began, and Ethan nodded.

"Edmund is going to be all right. I have seen him," he said, and Peter started to stand up, but Ethan made him sit again. "They have gone to search for him. Aslan will set things right tomorrow."

Peter suddenly let out a yawn, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not bored…"

Ethan laughed. "I know. You've had a long day, Peter. I will not keep you much longer."

"Ethan, I…when I came in here, I wasn't sure what I was going to expect. When I saw you, you have no idea…I've been wanting to see you again, to talk to you again for so long…I don't know what to say."

Ethan grinned. "Except I can't and that you thought I was a hallucination," he laughed.

"But what are you?" Peter asked. "You're solid…I could touch you, but you're not alive…ghosts I thought were see through…"

Ethan smiled. "I can be if I choose to be," he said. "I am an image conjured by Aslan to come and be your sort of…guardian angel, I suppose is the good word. You would not have been able to do anything to help Narnia if you did not help yourself first."

Peter bit his lip. "Why does it still hurt so much?" he asked, and Ethan took his hand.

"You will always miss me," he said softly. "and that's all right. But you can't forget to live, Peter."

Peter turned away for a moment, watching as Aslan's figure passed them by again. There was a long pause, and Ethan came to stand beside Peter again. "I must go," he said softly. "I will reappear for the last time on the morning of the battle. But for now, good night, Peter. I love you…as though you were my own brother."

Peter closed his eyes and felt Ethan squeeze his hand reassuringly. "Long Live the true King," Ethan added, and when Peter opened his eyes again, his friend was gone.

He sat in his chair for a good while, before forcing himself to stand again. He pulled open the flap of the tent, finding Aslan sitting before it, gazing into the stary sky. "Ah," the lion spoke, as he felt the boy stroke his fur. "The winds seem to be changing."

Peter let out another yawn, and the lion nudged him gently. "Go and rest, my son," he said softly. "you have had a trying day."

Peter smiled faintly. "Thank you," he said in a quiet voice, and Aslan merely blinked.

"It was what you needed, Peter," he replied, and watched as Peter made his way back to his tent.


	13. Chapter 13: Edmund's Revival

Chapter 13

_Edmund's Revival_

Edmund sat on the dirty ground that night in the witch's camp, tied very tightly to a tree. The gag was still stuffed in his mouth, so he couldn't speak when the members of her army poked, prodded, and threw insults at him. Well, he could yell, but was too exhausted to bother.

As he sat there, the image of Ethan's ghostly form was still embedded in his mind. Why, he kept repeating to himself, had Peter's friend appeared to him? He hadn't exactly been kind to Ethan, but he hadn't been nasty to him either. In fact, the entire time Ethan stayed at the Pevensie's summer cottage, Edmund ignored him.

Still, the older boy came, promising that everything was going to be all right. Edmund let out a soft moan, wiggling his sore fingers, and wanting desparately to stand up and stretch. The witch was ordering her soldiers about, telling them to sharpen their weapons and to create extra armor. She kept her eyes on Edmund, sneering as he struggled against the ropes, and did nothing to stop Ginarrbrick, who kicked him in the ribs to shut him up.

Edmund gasped in pain, doubling over; where were his reinforcements? Had they forgotten about him? He felt tears spring to his eyes, though he fought to keep them from falling. The sound of metal against steal was deafening; as the creatures of Jadis' army prepared for the upcoming battle.

He felt his stomach rumble painfully with hunger again, and tried to sleep it off. He leaned his head against the trunk, and heard Jadis speaking to one of her creatures, taking her eyes for the first time, off of Edmund.

_Edmund? _

Emund's eyes snapped open, and he strained his neck to look over his shoulder. He let out a small squeak, biting down on the gag, and saw Ethan's shadowy figure peering out from a thicket of bushes. He could see a centaur and several, bird-like creatures hiding, too, and they were all staring at him curiously.

_Don't make a sound. I promised you we'd come…_

Edmund gulped; his throat was very dry. He slowly turned towards the witch, a sharp pain shooting through his neck and back. Jadis still wasn't paying attention to him; it was pure luck that he was being given this much time to himself. If he could even call it that; it was the longest he'd gone without being tortured, anyway.

He heard a sudden squawk, which caused silence throughout the campsite, and Jadis raised her head, alarmed. Two birds, with the top half of an eagle and the bottom half of a leapord, came zooming at her, and began scratching at her face with their sharp talons.

Edmund stared at the sight, and felt the cords around his wrists loosen. He brought his hands to the front of him, staring at the scars the ropes left in his flesh. They were raw and bleeding a little, but they weren't all that bad. He was able to reach up and untie the gag from his head, stretching out his jawbone. When he finally lifted his head, Ethan was right beside him, and the great Centaur came charging up with his sword raised high.

"Get up, Edmund," Ethan hissed. "We have no time."

"He'll not get very far walking," another of the strange eagle-like creatures replied. "We'll take care of it. Hold tight, your highness." He flew up into the air, and before Edmund knew what was happening, he was being raised far above the ground. His stomach lurched with the sudden change in height, and he could see the witch still fighting off her intruders, shrieking wih rage.

"Where are we going?" Edmund asked, once he managed to find his voice, and when they were far enough away from the danger.

"I believe you already know the answer to that question, sire," the bird told him, and Edmund swallowed hard. He did not say another word until they reached the site of Aslan's great camp, in which there were pin pricks of light from torches. He saw hardly a soul, which meant it was probably very late in deed.

The sky was so clear, that Edmund found himself mesmorized by the thousands of diamond-shaped stars. They looked to be so close, that he could almost reach out and touch them.

Eventually, they began to descend to the lush green grass, and the bird allowed Edmund to drop gently with a small thud. When he raised his head, he found he was facing a great tent, and, peering through the darkness of the opening, was a pair of yellow eyes.

Edmund gulped anxiously as a great lion eventually came out, its mouth in a firm line. He did not even need to be told who it was; Edmund knew. "Aslan," he breathed, and there was a low growl deep from the lion's throat. "Please…is…is Peter all right?"

Aslan did not answer for a moment or two, and Edmund felt his heart racing madly against his chest.

"Your brother will be all right in time," he replied in a stern tone. "Edmund. You have put your siblings through a great deal of pain over the past couple of days. Peter, especially. I do hope you realize this?"

Edmund swallowed, lowering his head. "Yes," he said quietly. "I…" he paused, and Aslan let out another low rumble from his throat. "Come, my son, and we will walk. There is much we must talk about."

Edmund nodded slowly, glancing over his shoulder at the tent, and then turned his full attention back to the lion. They passed several groupings of tents, and Aslan pointed to the ones in which his siblings slept.

"Your brother was very ill to-day," Aslan told him as they passed Peter's quarters.

Edmund bit his lip, feeling his throat choke up with tears. The campsite was growing further and further away; they were approaching an open field at this point in time. It was growing very cold, and Edmund could see his breath coming out in white puffs. They reached the center of the field, overlooking a range of hills and cliffs, and mountaintops in the distance. A great wood stood behind them, the pines casting eerie shadows before them.

"You wish to say something, my son. Please, do not hesitate," Aslan spoke again, and Edmund raised his head, startled.

"I..." he swallowed hard. "When I met the witch in Narnia, I didn't think something bad would happen," he finally spoke. "I didn't know she was the witch…I thought…"

Aslan continued to gaze firmly at him. "You did not think, Edmund, and that, I believe, is the root of your troubles. You act too quickly on your impulses, my son…a fault that many have struggled with. But there will be a way to overcome this fault, if you are willing, in your heart, to be truly sorry for what you have done. I know the tension between you and Peter has gone back a long way, my son, and you do not need to recall any of it to me. Are you truly sorry for the pain you have caused, Edmund?"

Edmund nodded, his eyes lowered. "Yes," he replied, and Aslan smiled at last.

"You are able to look at me, my son. I do believe you are sorry for what you have done."

Edmund raised his head and looked at the great lion, wetting his lips. "There now. I realize, that the tension between you and Peter goes back quite a long way, but there is no need to speak to me of it. A new day is dawning…" he nodded towards the horizon, where the sun was slowly starting to come up, casting a slight orange glow over the land. "All will be forgiven."

Edmund reached forward and touched Aslan's soft fur, burying his face against the great, fluffy mane. Aslan let out a pur, stretching his long body out onto the dewy grass. He allowed Edmund to curl up against him as the sun slowly made it's appearance into a clear blue sky, casting a golden light over both of them.

Edmund was smiling by the time Aslan announced it was time to return to the camp. "I have never wanted to see Peter so badly," he admitted as they approached the campsite. Already, dyrads and fauns were hustling about, preparing breakfast for the army.

"It is still early, my son," Aslan told him quietly. "your brother still has quite a bit of healing to do. He needs his rest. But you will see your siblings soon enough. For now, we will retire to the hilltop, and wait until breakfast has been prepared."

Edmund heard his stomach give a loud rumble at the mention of breakfast, and Aslan chuckled.

"There will be plenty for you to eat," he insisted, and sat down on his haunches, allowing Edmund to take in his new surroundings.

It wasn't for another hour, though, that Susan and Lucy came out of their tent to greet the day. Lucy lifted her face towards the sunshine, and when she lowered it, she gasped aloud. Susan, in the midst of a yawn, was about to inquire what the matter was, and her eyes widened when she realized.

"Edmund," she breathed, and they heard a cough from Peter's tent.

"Peter, Peter," Lucy gasped, and ran to peer through the flap of her brother's quarters. She could see him sitting up, looking pale, but somewhat well-rested. "Come out, you have to see!"

"Mmm," he croaked. "What is it, Lu?"

"Just come on," she begged, and, after he changed and put on his shoes, he followed her. He stopped short, just as Lucy shouted, "Edmund!" she went to dash for her brother, who still stood on the hill, but Susan held her back.

Edmund turned to Aslan after he heard her cry, and the lion nodded permission. "You may go to them," he said, and after wrapping his arms around Aslan's neck in a tight hug, he dashed down the hillside and towards his siblings.

He stopped a few inches away from them when he arrived, and the four of them stood looking at each other awkwardly.

Aslan soon came down from the hill behind them, and he gave Edmund an encouraging nudge forward. "There is no need to speak to Edmund about what is past," he said, and with that, Lucy leapt into his arms, burying her face against his chest. Edmund nearly fell backwards, but clutched her tight, before accepting a hug and kiss on the forehead from Susan.

"Are you all right?" she breathed, and he smiled softly.

"I'm a bit tired," he admitted, and looked at Peter, who hadn't moved. The girls held their breaths, not sure how Peter was going to react to Edmund's presence. However, he didn't need to…Edmund suddenly raced forward, embracing his eldest brother in a rib-crushing hug. Peter held tightly onto Edmund, startled, but knew what his younger brother's intention was.

Peter kissed the top of Edmund's head after a moment or two, and smiled. "You should get some sleep," he said softly. "There is an extra cot in my tent."

Edmund smiled gratefully, though his stomach gave another loud growl, and Lucy giggled. "One of the dyrads will bring breakfast to you," she said, and he nodded.

Oerius came past just as Peter turned to one side and sneezed, a bit surprised; he hadn't done that since he entered Narnia. "_KeshEESH!_"

The girls stared at each other, and both turned to Edmund, who had paused before going into the tent. Oreius had an eyebrow raised and frowned, grunting under his breath in annoyance.

"Bless you," Edmund called, and Peter looked up, stunned. He nodded his thanks and ordered his brother away with a wave of his hand.

"You should rest too," Susan soothed after Edmund disappeared through the main flap. "We still have a full day until the battle."

Peter watched as a dyrad ducked under the flap of his tent with meal plates, and looked at them. "Go and eat some breakfast," he encouraged, kissing each on the forehead.

"Promise you'll rest?" Susan asked, and he smirked.

"I promise," he said, placing a hand over his heart, and she grinned, giving him a hug.

"I love you," she whispered, before following Lucy into their tent.

When Peter eventually joined Edmund, he found his brother sitting on the edge of his cot, staring at his plate of steak and eggs. A fresh piece of bread sat on the corner of the plate, and a cup of wine at his feet.

"Are you all right?" Peter asked, sitting down with his own food, and putting the plate on his knees to steady it.

Edmund wet his lips, reaching down to pick up his glass, and took a sip of the bittersweet drink. "I…Peter…" he looked up. "There's something I want to tell you, but I don't know how to start."

Peter smiled. "It's all right, Ed," he promised, and Edmund shook his head.

"No, it's not that. It's…something else. It's strange, really. I don't know how to say it. But I saw…I thought I saw…" he paused, not sure if he wanted to see his brother's expression. "You're going to think I'm mad," he added, and Peter snorted, taking a small bite of his breakfast.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and Edmund smiled softly.

"It's okay. But…when I was still in the witch's camp, I saw him, Peter."

Peter lowered his glass, his eyes narrowing. "Aslan?"

"No…" Edmund bit his lip. "Not at first. Ethan. I saw Ethan."

There was a crash as Peter's glass fell to the ground and shattered, wine spilling all over. Edmund jumped, catching his plate before it fell also.

"Peter, I'm sorry…I didn't mean," Edmund breathed, watching as the expression on his brother's face changed instantly.

"No, no…" Peter squeaked, and Edmund set his plate on the cot, and went to stand beside his brother. "It's not your fault."

"I don't even know if I saw him or not," Edmund admitted. "I though it might have been a trick of the light."

Peter swallowed, pressing the back of his hand against his lips. "It wasn't," he said softly, and Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"He's here?" he breathed, and Peter looked up, his eyes filled with tears. "In Narnia?"

Peter swallowed. "I think Im going to be sick," he whispered, and Edmund immediately helped Peter to his feet, bringing him outside. The two of them dashed to a clear patch of ground that was fairly far away from the others, and rubbed his back while he vomited onto the grass.

"I'm sorry," Edmund gasped. "Peter, I'm really…"

Peter gasped after he finished, sweat pouring down his face. Edmund helped his brother sit down for a moment, encouraging him to put his head between his knees. "It scared me, too," he said. "I don't know why he came, Peter. I didn't even know him that well. Actually, I was rotten to him, really."

Peter took a trembling breath, massaging his throbbing forehead.

"Is everything all right, sir?" The cheetah who had come to fetch Peter the night of his meeting with Ethan, came to check on them.

"Yes," Edmund insisted. "Could you bring a canteen of water, though? Thanks," he said, when the animal gave a small bow, and let them be.

Peter looked at Edmund after a moment or two of silence. "I'm sorry I didn't come, Peter," Edmund whispered after a moment, and Peter looked at him. "When you…I mean…"

"Ed, I know," Peter promised, smiling weakly. "I know."

"What if you'd died in the hospital, and I…I didn't get the chance to say goodbye?" Edmund asked, as water was brought to both of them, along with Susan and Lucy, who were both worried.

"You threw up?" Susan gasped, and Peter looked at her.

"Let us be, girls," he warned, and Lucy bit her lip.

"Oh, but…" she said, and Edmund nodded.

"He's all right," he said, and Susan handed the canteens to them, urging Lucy away. When they were gone, Edmund turned back to Peter.

"Edmund, what happened to me last night hurt more than anything I've ever felt," he said, struggling to his feet after drinking from the canteen. "Ethan told me he saw you. He told me you were going to be fine."

"So you saw him, too?" Edmund breathed. "Wow."

"Yes," Peter replied, folding his arms. "I still have a lot to think about. I'm still sick, Edmund, but I'm getting better. I've been feeling a lot stronger since we came into Narnia, but I…I have to fight in this battle. That's the only way anything can be helped."

Edmund smiled. "Yes," he nodded. "Yes you do." He lowered his head.

"And about what happened at the hospital," Peter continued, "didn't Aslan tell you not to dwell on the past?"

Edmund nodded. "I know," he said softly. "And I'm not disobeying him, truly I'm not. I suppose, what I wanted to really say, was that…" he bit his lip. "I love you, Peter. I never really wanted anything to happen to you."

Peter smiled softly. "I love you too, Edmund."

Edmund looked over his shoulder. "Well, I suppose we should go back," he said, and Peter patted his shoulder.

"I'm glad you told me this," he said quietly. .

"When you…if you…see Ethan again," Edmund continued, "tell him I'm sorry."

Peter nodded. "I'm sure he knows," he replied. "Go on to bed. We'll get in some sword practice later."

Edmund laughed. "All right," he agreed. "We'll show them all."

Peter ruffled his hair and sent him along, before following in his wake shortly afterwards.


	14. Chapter 14: The Night Before

Chapter 14

_The Night Before_

Edmund lay down as Peter instructed, but he could not fall to sleep. He watched as his older brother slept on the cot across the tent, his chest rising and falling with each calm breath.

Though it felt a bit strang to be back with his siblings again, Edmund was relieved. He was relieved that Aslan had forgiven him for such a crime, though he had a feeling it would take a little longer to be completely at peace with himself.

As he lay watching Peter sleep, Edmund couldn't help but remember how their troubles began. He was a bit surprised at how quickly Peter was willing to forgive and forget, but that made his love for his brother even stronger.

When the Dyrads came by to peek in and let them know lunch was being served, Peter awoke first, glancing over at Edmund. "Did you sleep at all, Ed?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse, and Edmund glanced at him.

"Some," he admitted, and Peter leaned forward after he sat up. "Peter…" he bit his lip. "Why?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Why what?" he asked, pulling on his shoes.

"Why did you forgive me so fast? I was so horrible."

Peter smiled at him softly. "You were horrible," he admitted, and Edmund had to smirk at his brother's bluntness. "But life is too short to hold grudges. Don't milk it for more than it's worth, Ed. And I do think we have a chance to start over, you know?" he stood and stretched, just as Lucy peeked through the tent.

"We were just coming to wake you," she said, and Peter lifted her into his arms, hugging her tight. "Susan suggested we take lunch together outside in the fresh air."

"Sounds fine to me," Peter replied, and glanced at Edmund, who was now standing, and motioned with his free arm to follow them out of the tent.

They found Susan arranging a small table on a clear patch of ground, under an enormous oak tree. She had blankets spread about for them to sit on, and the table itself was covered with a variety of different foods. Edmund sat between Peter and Lucy, eagerly helping himself to bread and cheese. Lucy watched with amusement as he shoveled in his lunch once they were all ready to help themselves, and giggled.

"Narnia's not going to run out of toast, Ed," she said, and Peter wet his lips. Normally, Edmund would have glared at Lucy and spat some nasty retort back at her. But instead, he merely smiled and laughed, proving that he really had changed for the better.

Peter sipped slowly from his mug of wine, listening as Lucy brought Edmud up to par on what had been happening with the three of them. She told him all about her nearly drowning in the great river, and how Peter had rescued she and Susan from Maugrim the wolf. Edmund listened intently, gasping at all of the correct places.

"I have missed a lot," he agreed, once she finished. "And you have no idea how much I've missed you."

Susan smiled, and nodded. "We missed you, too, Edmund." She reached over and squeezed his hand, watching as Peter stood and went to stand a few feet away with his back turned to them. "What's wrong?" she asked, and he lowered his head, still holding his wine.

"I have to send you three back," he said softly, and now it was her turn to stand.

"What? When did this come on?" she asked, and he glanced at her, his eyes a bit tearful.

"I'm supposed to be looking out for you," he said. "and a lot of good I'm doing if I let you three stay in the midst of all the danger. Susan, you and Lucy aren't even supposed to take part in the battle itself, so there's no sense in keeping you here where you could get hurt. And Edmund, you'll take my place and look after the girls. This is my battle…I have no choice but to stay behind."

"But They need all four of us," Lucy insisted, still sitting at her spot. "Remember the prophecy, Peter? There are four thrones at Cair Paravel that have to be filled. If three of us go back home, then it will all have been for nothing!"

"Lucy's right," Edmund insisted, walking over to his brother, and touching his shoulder. "We can't leave now. I've seen what the white witch can do," he said softly, and Peter turned to him. "and I've helped her do it. We can't let the other people here suffer for it."

Peter folded his arms after taking a sip of wine, and had a feeling he was defeated. His siblings looked so determined to remain in Narnia despite the danger, and Lucy had brought up a valid point about the prophecy. Still, he hated the idea of their young lives being threatened.

"Well," Susan suddenly spoke up, after silence filled the air for a good couple of minutes, "I suppose that's it, then?" she reached for her quiver and bow. A smile crept over her face as she began to wander away from them.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked, a bit startled by her sudden departure. She turned to face him, and pointed to her weaponry.

"To get in some practice," she replied, and, excited, Lucy hopped up and dashed after her (making sure to kiss and hug Peter and Edmund beforehand).

"Be careful," Peter shouted, and the girls waved.

"Well," Edmund began after they were out of earshot, "I suppose this means we ought to get in a bit of practice ourselves. Do we have horses chosen for us or something?"

Peter led Edmund towards the camp's paddock, where his gleaming white unicorn stood grazing. "Wow!" Edmund gasped, peering over the fence, and watched as Peter went to beckon a brown stallion in their direction. Both horses came towards the boys, bobbing their heads anxiously. "I've never seen a real unicorn before." Edmund asked if he could pet the animal's soft, silky coat, and Peter nodded.

"Of course you may," he replied thoughtfully, and Edmund stroked the unicorn's velvet nose. "Now the brown horse is yours," he added, and Edmund took hold of his animal's reins. "We'll go on a bit of a ride for a while, and then practice with our swords."

Edmund mounted the brown steed once it was saddled and ready, and waited for Peter. "Have you practiced yet?" he asked, and Peter looked at him.

"A little," he replied. "I've not been feeling very well, so not much."

Edmund nodded in understanding. "Well, we'll have to make sure you're real good, then," he sniggered.

"I'll admit something to you, Ed," Peter said quietly as they began to lead the horses out of the ring and towards the great, wide open field. "I don't think the soldiers feel I have the potential to lead them. I may be young, but I'm quick enough to catch their expressions of disbelief."

Edmund looked at him. "Aslan believes in you, Peter," he said. "so do I. Don't care about what the others think. They'll follow you no matter what. You just have to take charge."

Peter swallowed, and gave a small nod, not really saying anything in response.

They rode around the camp area for a while, checking on the girls, who were practicing archery and dagger throwing. Susan and Lucy waved happily as the boys cantered past, and Lucy gave a shrill whistle of delight.

Peter did look very strong and regal on the Unicorn, especially at a distance. "I'm afraid for when we go back, Susan," Lucy whispered, after she hit the bullseye with her dagger for the third time in a row. "It's so wonderful to see Peter so well here in Narnia."

Susan bit her lip, fingering the sharp tip of one of her arrows. "I know," she said quietly. "But he's still so tired, Lu. He slept almost all day yesterday, and most of the morning and early afternoon today. And he's still too pale and weary."

Lucy nodded sadly; Peter had been through so much in the past two years. "I don't know if he'll ever truly recover, Susan," she added. "I mean, he'll be better while we're in Narnia, but when we go home…"

"If we ever get home," Susan bit her lip. "I'm not saying I want to go back now or anything," she admitted, "but…you never know how this is going to turn out. Once we're on the throne at Cair Paravel…if we get there…who knows how long we'll have to rule?"

"But it doesn't really matter," Lucy pointed out. "No matter how long we're here, it doesn't affect our time at all in England."

"I suppose I keep forgetting about that," Susan admitted with a chuckle as the boys began their sword practice. "I guess I just mean if something happens to us in Narnia. We won't get back home, then, I'm sure."

"It wont," Lucy promised. "Aslan won't let anything bad happen."

Susan smiled at her as she shouldered her bow again, and pulled back on the string.With a single pluck, she finally succeeded in having the arrow hit the bullseye. She raised her head high and beamed, before going to retrieve it.

Peter and Edmund continued to practice their different sword fighting techniques, and were so focused on what they were doing, that they did not notice the small crowd of soldiers who gathered around to watch. Orelius stood off to the side, his eyes following Peter's swift movements, and watched as Edmund's horse reared high after striking a blow.

"Whoa, horsey!" Edmund yelped, startled by the sudden jolt, and had to pull on the reins to keep from sliding backwards. The horse suddenly stopped and turned its head in his direction, raising its lips.

"My name is Phillip," it said in a low, irritated voice, and Edmund stared. He blinked, staring at Peter who was laughing.

"Oh, er…" Edmund swallowed. "Sorry," he apologized, and the horse gave a soft whinnie, before turning his head to face forward again.

"Come on, Ed," Peter called, raising his sword again, his eyes catching the silver gleam of the sun.

Edmund encouraged Phillip to a trot, and he and Peter were just about to engage in another series of blows when they heard Mr. Beaver's voice over the clang of the swords. "Your highness, your highness!" he shouted, and Peter paused, looking up. It was then he noticed the small crowd surrounding them, and everybody immediately broke away, muttering to each other as though they hadn't been doing anything. "The witch is coming!" he told them, and Edmund nearly slipped off of his horse with alarm. "She's demanded a meeting with Aslan!"

Peter lowered his sword and turned to his younger brother, and the two immediately dismounted. They rushed through the crowds of fauns and animals, finding Susan and Lucy, who were were white as sheets "We saw her sledge," Susan breathed, taking Peter's arm. "Oh, she's terrible, Edmund…"

Edmund swallowed, feeling nauseous, and the four of them hurried in the direction of Aslan's tent. The great lion stood outside of it, waiting as Ginarrbrick shouted, "Make way for the Queen of Narnia!"

Peter squinted as he was nearly blinded by the white of the witch's gown, and stared when she approached them at last. Edmund looked as though he were going to be sick on the spot, but he refused to hide. Aslan was with him, so he was certain he was going to be fine.

Jadis approached the crowd, her eyes full of rage. She held her wand in one hand, and when she caught sight of Edmund, she sneered. He did not break eye contact with her; he would not falter.

"You have a traitor in your midst," she said in a low voice, and there was a collective murmer throughout the army. Edmund felt Lucy take his hand and squeeze it comfortingly, and Peter looked at him.

Aslan let out a low growl, his tail swishing back and forth. "His offense was not against you," he replied.

Her lips tightened, but from the expression on her face, Peter knew she was thinking of a retort. She was not about to leave the camp empty handed.

"Have you not forgotten the laws on which Narnia was built?" she asked, and another low growl escaped from the lion. "Every traitor belongs to me as my lawful prey, and that for every treachery I have a right to kill. That boy will die on the stone table," she added, and Lucy gasped in horror.

"Don't recite the deep magic to me, witch," Aslan growled. "I was there when it was written." He looked so menacing that there was complete silence; the crowd hardly dared take a breath in his presence.

"If I do not get the blood as the law demands, then all of Narnia will be overturned, and perish in fire and water."

"Try and take him, then!" Peter yelled suddenly, brandishing his sword, and pointing it at her.

The witch turned to him, her eyes narrowing. She said nothing at first, and then took a step forward. "So this is your invalid brother, is it?" she asked Edmund, and Peter stared at him, his heart racing. "Do you really think you have the power to overtake me, little…King? I will have this boy," she hissed. "You dare not refuse me." Aslan growled angrily.

"Enough." He turned to Edmund for a quick moment, closing his yellow eyes. "Come," he continued. "I must talk with you alone."

Jadis appeared surprised by the request, but she did not disagree. She merely held her head high, and, giving Edmund one more nasty look, followed Aslan into the tent.

Peter turned to the girls, who were both tearful with fear, and pulled them both into hugs, and encouraged them to sit and rest for a while. Edmund kept his eyes to the ground, too depressed to become involved in any small talk. Peter touched his shoulder comfortingly, and nodded.

"It's going to be all right, Ed," he said softly. "We're not going to let anything happen to you."

Edmund bit his lip, glancing back towards the tent…he wondered what Aslan and the witch were talking about. Peter massaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on, and Susan reached over to take his hand, squeezing it firmly. They all joined hands at that point, holding their breaths and praying that the meeting would end quickly.

Eventually, the tent flap pulled open at last, and Aslan stepped out first. The witch appeared after him, glaring menacingly at Edmund for a moment or two, and turned away.

"She has renounced her claim on the boy's blood," Aslan told the crowd, and Edmund stood very still, not quite certain he could believe his luck. He felt Lucy hug him tightly around the middle, and everyone began cheering, throwing their helmets in the air with their happiness.

"How do I know your promise will be kept?" Jadis asked Aslan once the noise died down, and the lion gave such a great roar, that the four children covered their ears. The witch stood staring at Aslan for a moment, before turning on her heel and marching back to her carriage.

When she was out of sight, Orelius announced that this was certainly time for celebration, and that a great bonfire feast was to take place at sunset. In the meantime, Peter let out a yawn, receiving worried looks from his sisters.

"Are you all right?" Susan asked, and he looked at her.

"Yes," he promised, and Edmund put a hand on his back.

"Go and lay down," he insisted. "I want to speak with the girls for a bit."

Peter started to protest, saying he didn't need to rest, but the look on Edmund's face stopped him. "I suppose I will," he said, and turned to go to his tent. When he was out of earshot, Edmund looked at them.

"What is it, Edmund?" Susan asked, once he pulled them to a private plot of ground. Without a single word, Edmund pulled both of his sisters into nearly rib-crushing hugs.

"Oh Edmund," Lucy breathed, seeing the tears in his eyes, and she took both of his hands. "It's going to be all right, now."

"I'm so sorry," Edmund told them softly, and Susan shook her head.

"We know you are," she replied. "We're just so glad you're all right." She kissed his forehead. "Go and spend time with Peter. Lucy and I have a celebration to prepare ourselves for."she winked, and Lucy gasped with delight.

"We'll see you soon!" she called, waving happily as they ducked under the flap of their tent. Edmund watched as they disappeared, before turning back to the tent he shared with Peter. He found his brother sound asleep again, his hands tucked under his cheek. He looked so peaceful, just laying there, and Edmund was glad to see some of the rosiness coming back into his face.

He didn't dare wake Peter, but he decided to at least drape a blanket over his body so he was warm enough. He was about to lay down on his own bunk, when Peter whispered, "Are you all right, Ed?" and craned his head to look at him.

"Sorry," Edmund apologized sheepishly, and Peter pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders. "Cold?" he asked, and his older brother sighed.

"Just so tired," he admitted, and Edmund shook his head.

"We practiced sword fighting for nearly three hours straight," he replied, smirking. "You should get some sleep so you're ready for the party tonight."

"The party." Peter nodded in agreement, his eyes closing again.

"You are coming, aren't you?" Edmund raised an eyebrow, and Peter blinked weakly.

"Of course I am," he promised, his voice a little stronger. "Thanks for the blanket, Ed."

Edmund nodded, biting his lip as his older brother drifted off for the second time that day.

That evening, the celebration began exactly at sundown as Orelius promised. Peter felt considerably refreshed after his rest, and beamed with pride as his Edmund was praised aloud.

The bonfire was lit, and the flames grew so high that he could have sworn they would touch the stars. A great spit sat in the center of the fire, holding tender meat, and there was enough wine to go around several times. The girls immediately participated in the dancing; Lucy's barefeet hopped to and fro to the beat of the drums, and Susan sailed past with a faun or two.

Edmund eventually began to talk to the beavers, and glanced up to see Peter smiling at him. He nodded respectfully, receiving the same gesture in return, and soon a Dyrad drug his eldest brother into the new ring of dancers. Lucy and Susan immediately paused in their current dances, and watched with wide eyes. Everyone parted into a circle as Peter twirled the beautiful creature in circles, a smile on his face and his eyes sparkling.

"As I said," Mr. Beaver told Edmund, nudging him in the side, "your brother…the true High King, he is."

Edmund nodded in agreement. Peter was not even paying attention to the fact that he and the Dyrad were the only two dancing at the moment, and the sight of his happiness was wonderful. When the song ended he bowed low, and the creature kissed both of his cheeks, curtsying. She scurried off, and Peter turned, and looked at the group.

"Who will have me for the next dance?" he asked, and Lucy immediately raised her hand, hurrying out into the ring, and took both of her brother's hands.

"This isn't a show," Edmund announced, knowing his brother must be feeling rather uncomfortable. "Go on, keep dancing, then!" he ordered, and the group obeyed.

"You look beautiful, Lucy," Peter whispered as he twirled his youngest sister about. She wore a silk gown of light peach and a string of pearls about her neck. Her hair was down and flowing in the breeze, and for a moment, it was hard to believe she was just eight years old.

"Your hands, Peter," Lucy breathed, holding one up, and pressing it to her cheek. "They're not frail and cold anymore. They're so strong."

Peter lifted her into the air and spun her about, making her burst into delighted laughter. "I feel as though I could defeat the witch single handed tonight," he told her, and Lucy grinned.

"You certainly shouldn't," she teased. "but I'm so glad, Peter." She hugged him tightly, and didn't let go for several moments.

"All right, Lucy Lu," Peter teased, ruffling her hair gently. "Go and socialize. I'm just going to wander about."

She nodded in agreement, closing her eyes when he bent down to kiss her.

When the celebration ended, it was around midnight. The girls said good night broke away to go to sleep, but Peter sat up talking in quiet voices. The excitement from the party made it difficult to relax.

"Peter," Edmund began in a quiet voice, "I…" he looked away, and Peter frowned.

"Ed, after all of this, you can't still be thinking about…" Peter began, and Edmund looked at him.

"No, Peter," he injected. "Aslan told me that though all has been forgiven, it might take a little longer for me to forgive myself."

"And you don't?" Peter asked softly, and Edmund looked at him.

"It's very hard, Peter. I just…I feel so terrible about everything."

"Talk to me, then," Peter leaned against his chair, and opened his arms.

"You're not serious," Edmund smirked, and Peter nodded.

"Sit on my lap, Ed. I won't bite you," he laughed, and Edmund hesitated for a moment, feeling a little foolish. "You're still my baby brother," he added, and Ed shook his head with a snort.

"Oh, all right," he agreed, and sat down on Peter's lap, closing his eyes. He did feel so safe this way; he felt comfortable. For a few moments he said nothing, but merley listened to the occasional burst of laughter from late stragglers passing their tent.

"Ed, tell me what's bothering you," Peter told him softly, and Edmund looked at him.

"I keep thinking about how angry you were after you came home from the hospital," he began. "Well, hurt, I suppose, is the better word. That was our first real row I think. But honestly, Peter, I didn't…I didn't really wish you had died. I was just so angry that you were being ripped away from me, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. You were giving up, and I hated you for it."

Peter gulped and rubbed Edmund's back, nodding. "I know you didn't mean it," he whispered, and Edmund choked on a sob. "Mum was ready to let me go, though," he added. "Even though I couldn't respond to her, I could still hear her…she was crying so hard, but she was telling me she and Dad would understand if God wanted me instead."

Edmund held Peter close, not wanting to let his brother go. "I'm glad he didn't need you, Peter," he breathed. "not yet, anyway. I hope he doesn't need you for a long time. We need you."

Peter chuckled softly. "I'm glad to hear it, Edmund," he said quietly. "Do you feel better?"

Edmund sniffed and bit his lip. "To get it out, yes."

Peter wiped his eyes a little, and offered a handkerchief to Edmund. "N-no," Edmund insisted. "I'm okay. Thanks for letting me sit with you, Peter."

Peter sighed. "Thankfully no one's around to hear us, eh?" he asked, and Edmund grinned, wrapping his arms around his brothers neck in a tight hug.

"I don't care if they did," he breathed, and Peter rubbed his back.

"All right," he said softly. "We have to try to calm down enough to go to sleep. Shall I order us a bit of hot milk or cocoa? That may relax us."

"I'm so full," Edmund replied, rubbing his stomach. "I don't know if I could handle a cup of milk." He blew out his breath and lay on his cot, watching as Peter peered through the main flap to get a look at what was going on.

"Well, then, we'll just see what happens." He cleared his throat, laying down.

"Peter?" Edmund asked, after they were laying still for a bit. "Did it occur to you…Aslan was not at the celebration. I would have thought…" Edmund propped his body up on his elbows, and Peter did the same. He had to admit, he felt a little strange that Aslan hadn't been there either. There was a nagging worry at his heart because of it, but he hadn't been able to place the reason with the feeling until Edmund mentioned it.

"You're right," he breathed. "I had wondered."

"I've been wondering about what he was talking about with the witch," Edmund said softly. "I mean…"

"Yes," Peter agreed, rubbing his nose a little. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Edmund glanced over his shouler. "Like…something's about to happen? Something…I did feel odd having such a good time at the party."

"Well, I'm sure that our imaginations are running away with us," Peter insisted, retrieving his handkerchief from his pocket. "_HuhKESHHH!_" he snapped forward. "Sorry…" he looked up.

"Bless you," Edmund chuckled, and Peter smiled at him.

"Thanks. I don't know where that came from…I am feeling much better." He lay back down.

"You're making sure I didn't forget," Edmund teased, and Peter winked. "I love you, Peter." He turned on his side, and Peter blew out his breath, keeping his gaze towards the main flap of the tent. He still couldn't get the idea that something was about to happen; but he wasn't quite sure what. He knew about the battle of course, but there was something else. Something deeper.


	15. Chapter 15: The Great Battle

Chapter 15

_The Great Battle_

_The room was very dim, and he could see a figure so small under the blankets. He wandered in, finding Ethan's very thin, ashen body. Had it truly been only three days? He looked as though he'd been fighting a battle for weeks and weeks. Surely there was some mistake! _

_Mrs. Hunt was sitting beside the bed, sobbing softly, clutching her rosary necklaces tightly in her hand. Neither of them noticed he was standing there in the corner; neither did the priest, who came into the room shortly afterwards. _

_Peter walked to the otherside of the bed and called his friend's name, but no one looked up. No one heard him. "Ethan? I'm here…"_

"_Come to his assistance, Saint's of God…come forth to meet him, Angels of the Lord…"_

"_No, no, he's not dying, he's not! He's only twelve…"_

"_Angels of the Lord, Receiving his soul. Offering it in the Most High…"_

"_Ethan, snap out of it! Open your eyes and say you're kidding, really…"_

_Mrs. Hunt began to cry harder as the priest made the sign of a cross over Ethan's body. _

"_May Christ receive you, who has called you, and may the Angels bear you into Abraham's bossom…"_

"_He's not dead yet! He's not dead yet," Peter yelled, kneeling down beside the bed and gave his friend's shoulder a shake. Ethan's breathing was so shallow. "He's not dead…he isn't dead!"_

Edmund opened his eyes to Peter's whimpers of, "not dead…he's not dead…not dead!" he lay under his covers, knowing it was still very late; and there was a chill in the air. Peter was crying softly, tossing from one side to the other, so Edmund decided to snap him out of it before he fell out of the bed.

"Peter?" he called, raising his head, and suddenly saw a few pink petals floating through the flap in the tent. He raised his eyes, hearing what he swore was a soft whisper. He tiptoed over to where he kept his sword and pulled it out in case; he couldn't understand why, but he felt as though something terrible had happened. There was just this feeling…this strange feeling. "Peter, wake up, you're having a nightmare." He shook his brother's shoulder gently, knowing that if he was too rough, he might panic.

Peter cried out in alarm and reached for his own sword, missing Edmund's nose by an inch. "Oy!" he cried, and his older brother sat, panting hard and hiccouging a little. "Peter, it's me, Ed," Edmund promised, embracing Peter tightly, and allowing his brother to burry his face against his shoulder. This wasn't normally something he allowed, but he hated seeing Peter in this state.

"Ed…" Peter gulped. "What…what are you doing up?" he wiped his eyes, setting his sword beside him.

"I heard you talking in your sleep," Edmund explained, and Peter blew out his breath, massaging his forehead.

"Wonder what time it is," he croaked, and Edmund shrugged.

"I don't know. It's still dark out, though. And I don't hear much outside, so that probably means it's still pretty late. Everybody's still asleep I'm sure. Are you all right? Should I get you some water?" he asked, noticing his brother's flushed cheeks and sweat-soaked hair.

"No," Peter promised. "I'll be all right. Sorry, Ed." He swallowed, glancing towards the tent. "What in the name of Aslan…" he pointed as a wave of pink petals drifted through the tent, approaching the young Kings and tickling their faces. Edmund stared, open-mouthed as a figure created from the cherry blossom petals peeped its head in. Peter hopped to his feet and brandished his sword, not sure whether he should attack or not.

"Do not fear," the cherry blossom figure spoke in an almost echoy-voice. "I mean you no harm. However, I bring grave news from your sisters."

Peter and Edmund stared at each other; Susan and Lucy had left the camp?

"What happened?" Edmund asked, and Peter gripped his brother's shoulder, feeling faint.

"Aslan…" he breathed, and the creature nodded its head softly.

"Aslan…?" Edmund glanced behind him, biting his lip. "He's…"

Peter let go of Edmund's shoulder and burst through the flap of the tent, ignoring his brother's shouts of, "Hey, wait!"

He flew through the campsite and reached the great lion's tent, pulling up the flap. He stopped short as he peered inside, and found his heart racing fast. Ethan stood where he had the previous night, looking very grave in deed.

"What…what are you doing here?" Peter asked, his voice a little hoarse. "You said you weren't appearing until the battle…"

"I know," Ethan replied quietly. "But I knew you would come here, too."

"What happened?" Peter asked, and Ethan merely gazed into his eyes.

"A great sacrifice. One Edmund must not know anything about," he replied, and Peter swallowed.

"Those feelings I had earlier this evening…" he sat down on the ground, burying his face in his lap.

"It is not as terrible as you think," Ethan said softly.

"Aslan's dead…and that's not…" Peter lifted his head. "I'm…I'm supposed to lead this battle alone? How can I?"

"Aslan truly believes you can. I do, too, Peter. The army—they are not exactly confident about you, but they will follow you to the end no matter what."

Peter snorted. "Thanks, Ethan." He blew out his breath.

"Where are my sisters?" he asked, feeling sick with worry over Susan and Lucy. He hadn't even known they were gone; they could have been hurt.

"They're safe," Ethan promised. "They are at the Stone Table."

"The Stone Table…" Peter breathed. "Why are you here, Ethan?" he demanded, and Ethan looked at him.

"To give you confirmation."

"I see…" Peter sighed softly.

"What is it, Peter?" he came forward, and Peter stood up again, feeling a bit dizzy. He could hear Edmund's voice in the distance, and glanced over his shoulder.

"I dreamt about your death tonight," Peter said bluntly. "I haven't…haven't had a nightmare about it in quite sometime. It was probably trying to tell me about Aslan, because Ed and I felt strange about him before we went to bed."

Ethan gave a small smile, and Peter raised an eyebrow. "That's not meant to be funny," he snarled, and Ethan shook his head, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It must have hurt so badly." He took his friend's hand tightly, and Ethan shook his head.

"No…well, I don't know, really."

"What was it like to die, Ethan?" Peter asked, sitting down in the chair for a moment.

"Peter, are you in here?" Edmund called, and both boys jumped.

"Ed, not now," Peter called. "Don't come in here. I insist you go back to bed…"

"Are you okay?" Edmund asked, and Peter had to smile softly.

"Yes, I'm all right. Just go, please," he begged, and he heared Edmund's footsteps as they headed off, without another word. When Edmund was out of earshot, Peter turned back to Ethan, who looked satisfied.

"Um…" Peter wet his lips, and his friend looked down.

"I don't have much time, Peter," Ethan said quietly. "I'm sorry. I wish I did…"

"I understand," Peter croaked.

"And dying? It wasn't bad, really, Peter. It was like falling into a really deep sleep, and waking up feeling light as a bird, you know. Nothing hurt anymore. My grandparents were there to welcome me, and took me with them."

"I miss you so much," Peter choked, and Ethan squeezed his hand tightly again. "I don't know how I'm going to say goodbye when you have to leave."

"You still have time to think of what you want to say to me," Ethan insisted. "There will be no loose ends, I am quite sure."

Peter bit his lip and nodded, a couple of tears falling down his cheeks. "You will be there?" he asked softly, and Ethan grinned.

"I promised you I would, didn't I?" he asked, and Peter nodded again, pressing Ethan's hand to his cheek. "Go back to sleep, Peter, There are still a good many hours until the battle begins. You need as much rest as possible."

Peter yawned at that very moment, and apologized quickly afterwards. "Thank you," he said softly, and Ethan stepped back.

"I will be there, Peter, I promise," he said, before disapparating into the darkness. Peter wiped his eyes quickly after his friend was gone, and, sniffling a little, pulled open the flap to step outside. He lifted his flushed face to the cool night air, and took his time walking back to his tent. He couldn't imagine the agony the girls were going through at the moment; sweet, little Lucy, especially. She was too young, too innocent, to be experiencing any of this.

He stepped into the tent he shared with Edmund, and found his younger brother waiting up for him.

"I told you to go back to sleep," Peter said quietly, sitting on the edge of his cot and removing his shoes.

"You've told me a lot of things I should be doing," Edmund replied. "I haven't felt the need to listen to you before, so why should I start listening to you now?" he winked, and Peter rolled his eyes. "I love you, Peter. I was merely joking. I just wanted to make sure you were really okay."

Peter smiled softly. "I'm fine," he promised, before sliding under the covers.

"It's true, then, isn't it?" he asked, and Peter looked at him.

"Is what true?" he pulled the blankets to his chin, his eyes focused on his sword that sat at the foot of his bed.

"He's really gone, isn't he?"

Peter bit his lip and turned over, sighing. "Yes, Ed."

"You'll be all right, Peter," Edmund promised.

"Thanks, Edmund. Now really, go to sleep, before I have to get up and box your ears," Peter warned, and Edmund gave a snort, laying down against the pillows.

The next morning, Peter was up before dawn, going over potential battle strategies with Orelius. He smiled when Edmund eventually stumbled out, yawning loudly.

"Morning," Peter greeted.

"M-m-morning," Edmund replied through another yawn, looking sheapish. "Sorry," he apologized, leaning sleepily against his brother's shoulder.

Peter kissed the top of his head, and turned to Orelius. "Is our armor ready for fitting?" he asked, and the Centaur bowed low.

"Of course, your higness. I have sent for it to be delivered to your tent after breakfast."

Peter cleared his throat with a satisfied nod. "Good," he replied softly. "Thank you."

"Shall I have your permission to take my leave?" Orelius asked, noticing the other soldiers beginning to stir.

Peter gave him persmission to do so, and, when Orelius disappeared amongst the other tents, Edmund put an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Are you doing all right?" he asked, as Peter continued to gaze at the map board and miniature figures.

"Mmm." Peter glanced upward as the sky began to lighten slowly with the early morning sunrise.

"At least it'll be a clear day," Edmund pointed out, as Peter coughed quietly, folding the board and carrying it into the tent.

Soon, breakfast was being served, though neither of the boys were feeling the least bit hungry.

"We really shouldn't go to battle on an empty stomach," Peter admitted, nibbling half-heartedly on a piece of bread. Edmund agreed, and they tried to eat what they could, before their armor was delivered.

Peter held his armor in his hands, just taking it in, and took a deep breath. "D'you need help with it?" Edmund asked, after finishing his wine, and stood to help his older brother with the chest plate.

"This feels so…it's like a dream, Ed," he replied, allowing his brother to fasten the straps around his back. He was able to slip on his arm and leg shields, and then went to help Edmund with his own armor.

"You really look like a King in that," Edmund laughed, once both of them were suited up and ready to go.

"So do you," Peter replied, blowing out his breath. "Ready?" he asked, and Edmund took his sword, sticking it into his sheath.

"I'm ready for anything," he replied, and the two headed out of the tent. They were soon surrounded by thousands of soldiers; fauns, animals, eagles, and Centaurs. Peter smiled as they all bowed low to him, and he nodded respectfully in return.

"What is your order, your Highness?" Orelius asked, once they rose again.

"Ed, you go with this half to the top of the ridge," he ordered. "And you'll stay there until I give the signal. Orelius…" Peter had the sense to look over his shoulder at that very moment, and saw Ethan standing a few feet away, coming towards them. Edmund was about to protest his orders, when he saw the figure, and his mouth dropped.

"Take…take the rest of them and form straight ranks on the slope. I want to be ready and waiting for her when she comes."

"Peter…" Edmund began, "I am perfectly capable of riding with you in the front lines."

Peter narrowed his eyes as Ethan came up beside him, and shook his head. "You will do as you're told, Edmund," he said. "We can't afford to loose you too quickly. Mr. Beaver make sure he doesn't do anything rash."

Edmund glanced down beside him, and saw Mr. Beaver dressed in a miniature suit of armor, carrying a spear.

"Aye, your Highness. You can count on me," he encouraged, "Let's go, eh? No time to waste. C'mon, mates!"

Edmund whistled loudly, and motioned with his arm for his battalion to follow him, and Orelius took the rest of the army to form the ranks as instructed. When they were gone, Peter embraced Ethan tightly, allowing himself to hold his friend tightly for a moment.

"Like a true king, Peter," Ethan told him, putting his hands on his friend's shoulder. "Are you ready?"

Peter took a shaky breath, nodding. "Yes," he replied. "Yes, I am ready."

Ethan whistled loudly, and both boys stood watching. Shortly afterwards, they heard the sound of hoofbeats, and Peter's white unicorn came galloping towards them, bareback and with only his reins for support.

"Good boy," Peter complimented, stroking it, and took the reins. Ethan took his hand, squeezing it.

"You will not see me again once you join your soldiers," he said. "I will merely be a voice inside of your head if you start to falter. Well, that was a bit of a lie. You will see me again, but one last time, and after the battle."

Peter laughed as he mounted his horse, and brandished his sword, putting his helmet on.

"Remember your central focus," Ethan told Peter, after he lifted his face shield so he could see. "You want to destroy the witch."

"Of course." Peter nodded. "Thank you," he replied, and Ethan merely smiled, before vanishing into thin air. Peter felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes; he hoped it wasn't going to be the last time he'd ever see Ethan, but he couldn't think about that now. She was coming soon, and he had to be ready. He gave a great "Yah!" and galloped towards the army, feeling the thrill of the pending battle filling his body.

He joined Orelius at the front of the main rank, glancing up to see the great lion-eagle bird soaring through the sky. "Orelius?" he asked, and the Centaur turned his helmet-covered head towards him.

"Your Highness?" he asked in a gruff voice, and Peter narrowed his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" he needed to know, because he'd seen Orelius' doubtful expressions through most of the training.

"Yes, your Highness," Orelius replied without hesitation. "You have proven yourself worthy, I will not lie."

Peter smiled.

"And you will follow me?"

Orelius bowed his head. "To whatever end," he promised, as the bird-creature landed on the rock beside them.

"Your Highness," he breathed, and Peter glanced downwards, "they come in numbers far greater than our own."

He swallowed, the familiar butterflies fluttering in his stomach. His sword felt a bit heavy again, but he hoisted it up, refusing to drop it.

"Numbers do not win a battle," Orelius replied, and Peter sighed.

"No," he agreed, "but I'll bet they help." He glanced over his shoulder at Edmund, who was standing on the ridge as he was told to do. The two brother's eyes met, and Edmund saluted Peter with a nod. When Peter turned to face front again, he caught sight of the white witch's army. It was in deed greater in number, but he didn't care. Her destruction was what he cared about now.

_Do not give the order until you see her eyes, _Ethan's voice spoke inside of his head, and he felt his breathing quicken. Peter kept his gaze towards the witch's approaching carriage, drawn by two white polar bears. She looked vicious, Aslan's mane wrapped around her shoulders as a shawl.

He raised his sword, after turning back to Edmund, and made a swift motion with his arm. The witch was getting a head start; she was letting some of her soldiers go first, while she waited. He would not allow that.

Edmund got the point at once, and whistled loudly; an army of eagles made a formation in the air, carrying rocks the size of the witch's carriage wheels. Peter sighed with relief as the boulders began to fall on the startled enemies, crushing one soldier at a time.

_You had me worried there for a moment, mate. That was clever…I suppose all the reading you've done has helped. _

Peter bit back laughter, not wanting to look like a crazy lunatic in front of Orelius.

He turned to face the witch again, whose eyes were flashing with fury, her wand and sword raised high. The Minotaur, her head of ranks, gave a great roar and raised his axe after the entire front line had been destroyed by the air attack.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, knowing it was time. There was no turning back now; he had to do this.

He eventually raised his sword after trying to calm himself down, and raised it high, pointing it in the direction of the witch's army. He took a deep breath, before shouting, "FOR NARNIA! AND FOR ASLAN!"

His unicorn gave a shrill whinnie and reared high, nearly unseating him, but he'd had enough training riding bareback to stay on. He squeezed his knees against the horse's sides, and felt it take off at full speed in the direction of the oncoming army. Orelius rode close alongside him, his sword pointed outward.

He could barely hear anything but the pounding of hoof beats alongside and behind him, and he heard the rawrs of the creatures on the white witch's side. The witch was staring right at him, her eyes blazing. They were coming closer and closer, and soon, they began the attack. When Peter took his first swing, he decapitated one dwarf, not even looking back when the lifeless body tumbled to the ground. His heart was pounding wildly as he swung this way and that, trying to keep his balance on the unicorn. Orelius fought a few feet away, ducking when several arrows flew in his direction.

The witch was so close, but Peter was blocked by a massive battalion, and had to slash his way through. He never seemed to run out of energy; in fact, the more he fought, the more strength he gained. Blood was everywhere, all over his face and his armor, but that didn't bother him. If he were to be a King, he would have to get used to quite a bit of blood and gore.

Between he, Orelius and their small series of ranks, they managed to destroy a bulk of the white witch's forces. Peter saw a phoenix shoot into the air at that very moment, coming from Edmund's area. He watched as it soared high, bursting into flames, and creating a line of fire between Peter's army and the white witch. Peter shielded his eyes with the brighteness of the flames, and gasped when the witch's sledge burst through it after a moment, creating a blue, icy haze.

_Pull back, Peter…you have to pull back! Go back to the rocks. Tell them to go back, now!_

Peter gritted his teeth and glanced over his shoulder, where the rest of his battalion were still engaged in violent combat. He blew out his breath as the witch came nearer, and then backed up. "BACK TO THE ROCKS!" he shouted, after whistling loudly to get his army's attention. Orelius paused in his swordwork, and repeated the order to the soldiers who were too far to hear Peter's words. "PULL BACK!" Peter repeated, turning the unicorn sharply around in a circle, and having him go at a full gallop towards the narrow pass between the cliff.

He barely made it when an arrow came wizzing from out of nowhere, and struck his horse in the side. Peter cried out in alarm as the unicorn gave a squeal of pain and tumbled, knocking him off. He fell on his back on the grass, the blow knocking the wind out of him. He lay there, his head spinning.

_Get up, Peter. Get up._

Peter tried to take a breath but felt a sharp pain shooting down his chest, and cried out. He hoped he hadn't broken any ribs.

_Get up! I am not going to let you die here!_

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, the pain slowly but surely dwindling. He struggled to sit, and at that very moment, saw Edmund dashing past on Phillip. "WAIT!" he shouted, "STOP!" but it was too late. He struggled to his feet at last, watching in horror as Edmund headed straight for the witch. Peter wanted to run after his brother, but his feet were rooted to the grass. He could only stand and stare as Edmund approached the witch, lashing at her.

Orelius noticed this, too, and began galloping in their direction, prepared to make a great swing with his sword. Peter's mouth opened and closed, and he felt as though he were going to pass out. If anything happened to Edmund, he would never forgive himself. Never. He watched as the witch turned towards Orelius, who struck a blow at her, but she blocked his move with her sword. Peter's eyes were wide as she raised her wand, and with a blinding white light, turned the great Centaur into stone.

Edmund let out a roar of anger at that moment and raised his sword high, slashing down so hard that he chopped Jadis' wand clear in half. The force of his blow caused ripples of magical energy to protrude from it, and the witch stared.

_Ethan, I…why can't I do something? _Peter thought, realizing his friend's voice hadn't suggested any strategy for helping Edmund. He couldn't move, he couldn't. He was paralyzed with fear.

Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jadis struck Edmund in the gut with the leftover point of her wand, and he let out a gasp of pain, falling to his knees.

"EDMUND!" Peter yelled, feeling sick, and watched as his younger brother collapsed to the grass. Jadis grinned with sadistic satisfaction, and turned her eyes on Peter.

_This is your chance, Peter. Nothing will get in your way of battling her._

_Edmund didn't deserve that!_

_Never mind…Edmund brought the task on himself. You gave him orders, he disobeyed. He is not dead, though._

_Not yet…_

_Focus, Peter. The witch is coming for you._

Peter felt as though he were going to explode with fury…he let out a yell and dashed right for Jadis, slicing at her with his sword. She blocked him, nearly knocking him backwards with the force of her blow. He didn't fall this time, but continued to engage in a duel, putting forth every move he knew. Of course, he hadn't gotten that much sword practice in, but enough to keep him alive during the battle.

Jadis took both her sword and one stolen from a victim, aiming them at him. He gasped and leaned far back, the swords missing his neck by half an inch. He fell again, gritting his teeth as he hit the grass, and then yelled with shock when she stabbed her sword through his shirt. Again, he'd narrowly escaped a maming, but he couldn't move. Because he couldn't move, Peter couldn't see Susan and Lucy approaching from one of the nearby hilltops, followed by another army. Mr. Tumnus the faun shared a look with the girls, and they turned to Peter.

"Oh…" Lucy gasped as Jadis prepared to strike him; this time, to kill. She barely lowered her sword when everyone heard it: a great roar, a lion's roar. She looked up, her mouth opening wide, and saw Aslan bolting for her from the top of the ridge. Peter was shivering from terror as the great lion, whom he had presumed dead, leapt over him, and pounced onto the witch. With a flash of enormous teeth, the witch was gone.

After Aslan finished with Jadis, he turned slowly to face Peter, his yellow eyes blinking softly. Peter pulled the sword tip out of his shirt, struggling to sit up, and then stood. He saw Susan and Lucy rushing at full speed towards him, and Lucy leapt into his arms, sobbing as he held her tight.

Susan glanced around the battlefield, all of the white witch's soldiers and a good deal of Peter's army laying dead on the grass. "Peter…" Susan breathed, "Where is Edmund?"

Peter stared at her; during his battle with the witch, he'd almost forgotten his brother. Lucy released her grip from around his waist, and the three siblings hurried towards where Edmund lay, his arm outstretched and grasping at the dirt. He was gasping for breath, his skin covered with sweat. "Ed!" Peter cried, falling to his knees. Susan did the same, and Lucy quickly removed the phial of cordial from her belt.

Susan hoisted Edmund's body onto her lap, her tears falling down her cheeks. They splashed against his breast plate, making small tiktik sounds. Peter felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, as well, and felt his throat choking up.

_No, no, no, no…don't take Edmund, please…_he begged. _Not after all he's been through. Don't do this!_

Ethan was silent; Ed was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Lucy uncorked the cordial, and, as she had done with Peter after his injury following the death of Maugrim, allowed a small drop to fall into Edmund's mouth. Peter held his breath as his brother's body sagged, and for a moment he thought it might be too late. Susan began to sob softly, and Lucy glanced at Peter with wide eyes.

"Peter," she choked, and he reached for her, holding her tight.

Edmund suddenly let out a loud gasp and began to breath normally again, his dark eyes fluttering open slowly. Susan's sobs ceased almost at once, and she let out a laugh of relief, releasing her grip from his hand. Peter let go of Lucy, who sighed with relief, and immediately pulled Edmund into a great hug. Edmund held him tightly, not struggling…he could feel his brother's shoulders trembling as he cried softly.

"When are you going to learn to do as you're told?" Peter asked, and Edmund smirked when he was able to see his older brother's expression. The girls glanced at each other with amusement, and eventually pulled into a great group hug.

"Peter?"

Susan heard the voice and lifted her head, looking at Edmund, who raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked, and she stared.

"Did you ask for Peter, Ed?"

"No…"

"Ohhh!" Lucy hopped to her feet, and the remaining three siblings on the ground, turned to where she was looking. Susan gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

"Impossible…this is impossible," she breathed, when she saw Ethan's figure standing beside Aslan.

"Well done, mate," Ethan told him with a smile, and Peter stood slowly.

"Is he…is he real?" Susan asked, standing with him, and took a step forward.

"Hello, Susan," Ethan told her quietly, and she felt more tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

"Ethan!" Lucy squealed and bolted towards him, wrapping her arms around him as she had done when he was alive at the cottage. Susan and Peter watched with amusement as he held her for a moment, and then looked at Peter.

"Children?" Aslan spoke softly, and Lucy, after letting go, looked at the lion. "Allow Peter time alone with his companion. This will be their last meeting."

"Oh Peter," Susan breathed, placing a hand on her brother's shoulder, and he smiled softly.

"I'll be all right," he promised, and she bit her lip, after giving Ethan a soft hug.

"Come on, Su," Edmund encouraged, having stood up at last, and they followed Aslan.

For a few moments, Peter and Ethan stood gazing at each other, not really speaking. "I was not certain if Aslan would let me come to the coronation tomorrow, Peter," Ethan began. "but I am afraid that is not possible. So here I stand, sending my blessings to you for a long and successful rule."

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"You fought bravely. I am proud of you."

"Thanks," Peter managed to squeak. "So…so this is goodbye, then?"

Ethan smiled. "Well, yes…and no. This is the last time you will see me in human form again. But I'll never truly leave you, you know. And you can talk to me whenever you like."

Peter managed a small laugh. "Yes, but then people will think I've gone crazy," he teased, and Ethan winked.

"I don't mean you have to speak out loud."

"I know," Peter replied. "I had to tease you just once."

Aslan suddenly crept up behind them, and nuzzled Ethan with his nose. "It is time," he said, and Ethan lowered his head.

"I will never forget you, Peter. I love you, as I always have."

Peter choked on a sob. "I love you, too," he replied, and Ethan smiled.

"I'll be waiting for you," Ethan added, and lifted his hand in a single wave, before his body, engulfed in bright, golden light, disappeared. Aslan watched as this occurred, and then turned to Peter, who was still crying silent tears.

"Now," he said gently, "we retreat to Cair Paravel, and tomorrow, you and your brother and sisters will become Narnia's King's and Queens. Come, my son. It is a long journey."

Peter stared at the spot where Ethan had once stood, finding it a bit difficult to turn away. But he heard Lucy calling his name, and did so, and his siblings were waiting for him.


	16. Chapter 16:Around and Around Again

Chapter 16

_Round and Round Again_

_The crowds gathered at the Castle of Cair Paravel in the morning, dressed in their finest. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy, led by the great lion, moved slowly down the isle parted for them, and smiled as everyone bowed low. _

_Peter felt his heart beating madly as he walked up the glittering steps to his throne, covered with deep, sapphire blue velvet. Aslan watched as Mr. and Mrs. Beaver made their way to the front of the great throne room, holding four small pillows. Sitting upon the pillows were crowns of different shapes, sizes, and colors…gold, silver, jewel-embedded. _

_Mr. Tumnus came next, beaming at Lucy as he approached the stairs, and he bowed once to Aslan. _

_The room becam silent once the four monarchs were standing together, and Aslan at last, began to speak:_

"_To the glistening eastern sea, I give you…Queen Lucy the Valiant."_

"_To the great western wood, I give you…King Edmund, the Just."_

_Peter turned to his younger brother, beaming with pride. Edmund, since arriving in Narnia, had gone through such a drastic change…and certainly for the better. Edmund smiled back after the crown was placed on his head, and he mouthed, "I love you" before taking a seat on his throne. _

_Peter felt his throat choking up with tears, and when he lifted his head at the sound of,_

"_To the radian southern Sun, Queen Susan, the Gentle…"_

_he half expected to see Ethan strolling casually through the great double doors. He knew it was crazy…his best friend was gone forever, he would not come. _

"_To the clear Northern sky, I give you, King Peter, the Magnificent!"_

_The cheer that followed was deafening, and Peter felt slightly faint as he practically tumbled into his seat. Susan squeezed his hand lovingly and he smiled back at her, before turning his gaze to his royal subjects. _

"_Once a King and Queen of Narnia, always a king or queen." Aslan let out a great rawr that nearly shook the entire castle, and trumpets began to play, amidst, "Long Live Queen Lucy! Long Live King Edmund!"_

_Peter felt tears filling his eyes; this was real. He was really a King, about to take an entire nation under his wing. _

"_Listen to your heart, Peter…I will always be there," a familiar voice spoke inside of his head, and he closed his eyes. _

"Peter, it's been sighted again, it's been sighted! Come on, wake up, oh hurry up!"

Peter lay staring at the wall, bundled under his thick covers. It was pitch black in his bedroom, and he realized he'd woken from a dream. The coronation…it was hard to believe that he, his brother and sisters had been ruling in Narnia for twenty years already.

"Peter, don't make me break down the door," Edmund's voice called, and Peter let out a soft groan, stretching his arms over his head. He slid over the edge of his bed and made his way towards the great window, pulling open the curtain.

Bright sunshine glistened on a broad-chested, middle-aged man now, with a thin strawberry-blonde beard. He gazed at his reflection in the window, jumping when the door opened at last. "You did hear me," Edmund chuckled, and Peter turned to him.

"Sorry, Ed," he apologized. "What was it?"

"The stag's been sighted! Just slightly North of here! Come on, brother…I've woken the girls, and they're getting ready."

The White Stag…an animal Peter and his siblings had been after for the past several years. If caught, it would give one three wishes, but it was almost an impossible task.

"About time, eh?" Peter asked with a chuckle, as he shuffled about his room, gathering his hunting attire.

"What were you dreaming about, anyway?" Edmund…though younger, stood about a head taller than the High King. He was clean-shaven with his trademark raven hair, and dark brown eyes.

"Oh, times long past," Peter replied thoughtfully. "Our coronation. I was just thinking how long it has been since then."

Edmund nodded. "Time does fly, eh?" he patted his brother's shoulder, and the two hurried into the corridor. Lucy and Susan were both giggling together and waiting for them, both blossoming into beautiful women.

"We thought you'd never get up," Susan teased as they made their way for the main doors of the castle.

"It has been a long week," Peter admitted, and Lucy giggled.

"Well, I feel as though I could catch that stag single handed," Edmund joked, and Susan gave him a warning look. "You migh as well stay at the castle, girls," he added, puffing out his chest. "I'll go get the stag myself."

"You wouldn't," Susan gasped, and Peter smirked.

"Damn right he wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," Edmund laughed, as they rushed out towards the stables. It was a beautiful spring day; the air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms. Peter mounted his white unicorn, cleverly named Sunbeam, and waited patiently for his siblings to catch up.

"Where did you say it was, Ed?" he asked, and Edmund pointed in the direction of the western woods, before urging Phillip into a canter. The girls brought up the rear, talking and laughing the entire way.

"With your chatter, we'll scare it off," Edmund told them as they approached the edge of the woods.

"Is it just the trick of the sun, or does Peter look pale to you, Lu?" Susan asked, watching as their oldest brother rode in first, whistling to an old tune.

"Mmmmm," Lucy murmered, and looked at Edmund. "He has been very tired lately."

"Moreso than usual I fear," Susan whispered, and they clucked kindly at their steeds, who hesitated for a moment before following Edmund.

"You all right there, Phillip?" Edmund asked, after a good part of the ride was over.

"Not as young as I once was," Phillip replied calmly, and they stopped short.

"Peter?" Edmund asked, noticing his brother had pulled Sunbeam to a halt in the middle of the woods. They had reached a clearing, one they hadn't passed before. Or…in ages. "Are you all right?"

Peter looked at him, loosening his grip on his reins. "I feel strange," he replied. "I'm so cold all of the sudden."

"Dismount before you fall off," Susan begged, and then she saw it. "Oh! What is this?" she asked, noticing an iron pole with a great lantern attached to the top.

Peter steadied his trembling body against Sunbeam, and eyed it. "It feels like something out of a dream, Susan," Lucy breathed, as she dismounted, too, and circled it. "Oh, goodness, what a contraption!"

"It's not a contraption," Edmund snorted. "Girls, it's a lamppost, see?" he pointed at the flames. "Peter, what's the matter?"

"I don't know," Peter whispered, and the other three prepared to catch him in case he fainted, for he looked as though he might. "No wait, just a second…I think it's passing." He closed his eyes and took a deep, trembling breath, allowing Lucy to rub his back soothingly.

"Are you sure?" she asked, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. I suppose I…just…" he paused, and they turned to where he did. "What in Aslan's name, is that?" he pointed, and they all gasped.

"It's a doorway! But it's…it's planted in the ground as though it were floating," Susan breathed. "Oh, now we must be dreaming."

"You're still trembling, Peter," Lucy said quietly, and he squeezed her arm comfortingly.

"No worries, Lu." He looked at them. "I never pass up an adventure, though. Shall we?"

Susan stared. "Go through the door, you mean?"

"Of course. Who knows—it could be a sign." He winked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, I think we may have missed the stag, dearest. But all right, I suppose if you are up for an adventure, so am I."

Edmund grinned and, after they tied their animals, linked arms with his siblings for safety. They headed in the direction of the mysterious doorway, and reached a thick grove of pine trees beforehand.

"Oh…" Peter fell to his knees, and the girls cried out in alarm.

"What is it?" Edmund demanded, shocked at the strange sound of his own voice. "What the…" he cleared his throat.

"I'm so cold," Peter whispered, and the girls held him tightly, urging him through the branches and towards the doorway. It would be too much of a strenuous ride back to Cair Paravel at this point—he needed to rest, without a doubt. "Let me up," he begged, and they eased him to his feet, stumbling into the depths of the doorway.

"These aren't branches," Edmund breathed as he felt his way through the pine needles, which felt softer and softer by the second.

"Oh, they're coats," Susan breathed, realizing how much younger her voice sounded.

"Ow, watch it, Edmund," Lucy snapped as he stepped on the back of her heel.

"Sorry!" Edmund retorted. "But there isn't much room in here, in case you haven't noticed!"

"Peter, are you…OH!" the four of the suddenly lurched forward, and fell flat onto a hard surface. They raised their heads a moment later, and realized they were no longer adults, but the ages they had been before they left for Narnia. Peter lay on his side, his head nestled in his arms, trembling slightly, and coughed.

"Ugh," he muttered, and Lucy gasped.

"Oh my," she said, peering at her hands, and watched as Susan did the same. "We're…" she swallowed, turning to Edmund, who was helping Peter sit up slowly. "Home again."

There was a knock on the door to the spare room at that very moment, and the four siblings jumped at the noise.

"Is this a private party, or might I join you?"

The voice on the otherside belonged to the Professor, and Susan called that it was all right he come in.

Professor Kirke pulled open the door and stood gaping at them, frowning as Peter began coughing again.

"Mrs. McCready mentioned you were taking a walk up here," he said, and then glanced at the open door of the wardrobe. "What were you all doing in there?" he pointed to it.

"Sir," Peter whispered, glancing at Edmund, who smiled fondly. "You wouldn't believe us if we told you."

Professor Kirke chuckled warmly. "Oh, I wouldn't, eh?" he asked. "Why don't you try me?"

The four Pevensie children stared at one another, startled.

"I don't know if we even understand it ourselves, sir," Susan admitted as Professor Kirke eased Peter to his feet, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders for support.

"Not logical, eh?" he winked. "Come on, lad, we'll get you back into bed," he told Peter. "You've over-exerted yourself, I'm afraid."

"Sorry," Peter apologized.

"I telegraphed for your mother," Professor Kirke said, once he helped Peter back under the covers. "She is arriving as soon as she is able."

The other three gasped with delight. "Oh, oh, then she's safe," Lucy gasped, clutching Peter's hand. "I knew it would all turn out all right!"

"We don't know of Father," Susan admitted, as Professor Kirke draped a compress over Peter's forehead, and gave him a gentle pat on the hand.

"Mother…she shouldn't have to come," Peter whispered.

"She's anxious, Peter. I couldn't keep her away," Professor Kirke said. "Now, tell me everything, children. Believe me, I daresay logic must be tossed aside at this rate."

Lucy, who sat on Peter's bed and held his hand, started off. "Well, sir, you see, it began when I discovered Narnia through the wardrobe when trying to hide from…everything." She hesitated to say Edmund's name, though he understood, and gave her an apologetic expression. "And I met a Faun named Mr. Tumnus, who took me in for tea!"

Susan, Peter and Edmund glanced at one another with small smiles, knowing the story all too well.

"P'raps I'd better tell you in private, Professor," Lucy suddenly paused. "Peter needs rest."

Professor Kirke chuckled warmly, and patted her on the head. "I do believe you're right," he agreed. "Come and join me in my study, and let your brother sleep."

Lucy pecked a kiss on Peter's cheek and followed the Professor out of the room, leaving Susan and Edmund behind for the moment.

"Mother is coming," Peter said softly, and Susan nodded.

"Yes, she is."

"Do you think we'll be able to go home?"

Edmund shrugged. "I dunno. P'raps it's better for you out in the country for a while," he suggested, and Peter nodded softly.

"Just rest, Peter," Susan encouraged, pulling the blankets up to her brother's chin. "We'll be here if you need us."

Peter smiled weakly at them as they stood to go. "I love you," he told them, and they smiled back.

"We love you, too, Peter," Susan and Edmund replied in unison, before shutting the door behind them.

Mrs. Pevensie arrived at Professor Kirke's mansion the next evening, and immediately demanded to see her eldest son. Peter was lying on the parlor couch, reading _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ to Lucy when she came in, and jumped at the collective gasp from his siblings.

"Mother!" Susan cried with delight as she entered, and Lucy let out a shriek, flying from Peter's lap and into her mother's arms. Mrs. Pevensie embraced all of her children, sobbing softly, and saying how terribly she missed them.

"We've not been gone but more than a week, Mum," Susan giggled through her tears, and watched as mother went to Peter, feeling his forehead.

"My darling, how are you feeling?" she asked, after kissing his cheeks and holding him close.

"Better," Peter admitted. "Very tired, though."

"Thank God." She breathed.

"We would have written sooner, Mum, but we didn't know if it would reach you," Susan said, and Mrs. Pevensie kept a tight hold on Peter's hand.

"Might I have a word?" Professor Kirke asked, once he decided it was time ot make an appearance. Mrs. Pevensie nodded and, after kissing Peter's cheek, followed the older man into the hall.

"Wonder what they're talking about?" Lucy asked, and Peter bit his lip.

"Dunno." He sighed quietly, as he heard a soft sob from his mother.

"Want me to eavesdrop?" Edmund whispered, and Peter shook his head.

"No," he replied, and Professor Kirke stuck his head in again.

"Edmund, Susan, Lucy? Would you skidaddle and give Peter, your mother and I a chance to talk in private?"

They agreed and hurried off, and Peter sat up a bit straighter when the two adults came in. "What's wrong?" he asked as Mrs. Pevensie sat on the couch beside him, taking his hand tightly in hers.

"Professor Kirke has volunteered to help you continue your studies," she said. "I do not think it will be good for your health to return to boarding school in the fall."

"Correspondance courses, you see," Professor Kirke explained. "You will still graduate with your class, but you will study here in the manor with me."

"Oh," Peter replied softly, and Mrs. Pevensie touched his cheek tenderly.

"It is for the best, darling," she replied. "Your heart is too weak. I would rather that you take things very slowly, and to be surrounded by so many other children would be too much."

Peter nodded. "Would the others be going back?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes. But they will return here for the holidays, and so will I, until Father returns from the war."

"Is that all right, lad?" Professor Kirke asked, and Peter gave a slow nod. "It will be an adjustment, but I think it will do just fine. In the meantime, Helen, please stay as long as you like. There is plenty of room, and I believe a change of scenery would do you some good as well for a while."

Mrs. Pevensie nodded her agreement. "Thank you, Professor. You have been very kind to my family…I do not know how to repay you."

Professor Kirke waved his hand. "Nonsense," he said. "There is no need of repayment. I was happy to do it, and I needed the company in my old age. Between you and me, Peter my boy, the Macready is not considered appropriate company for a cooky old gentleman like myself."

Peter laughed. "No in deed," he replied. When the two adults left him alone for the moment, he glanced at the copy of Grimm's Fairytales that lay open on the floor, and picked it up. It belonged at one point, to Ethan, who had given it to Lucy for her love of fairies. He saw his best friend's signature scribbled into the top corner of the inside cover.

_I'll be waiting for you, _Ethan's voice spoke inside of his head again.

"And I'll never forget that," Peter responded softly as he marked the page and shut the book. "Never."

The End


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